


Her DNA

by HVL



Series: To Be Human [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Past Mind Control, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 362,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HVL/pseuds/HVL
Summary: Natalia Alianova Romanova, former KGB, former Red Room, assassin, spy, and former SHIELD agent…and maybe, former Avenger is off the grid. She's gone, but by no means forgotten. Agent Romanoff has touched a lot of lives whether as the Black Widow, as Natalie Rushman, as Natalia Romanova, as Natasha Romanoff, and more. The ripple effect of her absence will generate waves which will change more lives and may even change the course of the Avengers.





	1. The First Time it Happened

Chapter One

The First Time it Happened

Tony

 

 

Natalia Alianova Romanova, former KGB, former Red Room, assassin, spy, and former SHIELD agent…and maybe, former Avenger was off grid. Friday couldn’t track her anywhere. Facial recognition failed to identify the diminutive woman with the large shadow.

General Ross was on the phone again. Tony left him on hold. He didn’t want to discuss what happened at The Raft, or the current manhunt underway for the world’s most notorious spy. The committee wanted the Avengers to be ready to bring her in. Her face literally stared at him from a dozen different channels on the wall, green eyes, red hair—sometimes curly, sometimes long and straight, sometimes soft and feathered—and a powerhouse body he’d made the mistake of thinking was just a sex-soaked wet dream come to life.

The first time it happened, she’d walked into the gym of his Malibu mansion wearing the sexiest pair of black slacks and a fitted white blouse and managed to appear both sweetly erotic and professional in the same breath. An air of innocence hovered around her, but even as distracted as he’d been by everything, it wasn’t innocence drawing him in.

No, it was the enigma, the shadow hovering behind the innocence, the promise of darkness, and for a split second, while Pepper scolded him for looking at the sensual images of her, he caught Natalie’s—Natalie Rushman, Tony allowed himself a split-second of a smile, he’d always be a little fond of Natalie, even if she was only a poor reflection of Natasha—gaze swing toward him. What did she see when she looked at him? What had she attempted to gauge? A dozen questions flitted through his mind, the mechanic deconstructing the project in front of him. In this case, the woman. If he could pull her apart, he could understand.

Then Happy swung at her and Natalie’s eye contact held Tony’s, as if he were the only person present. Yet her awareness encapsulated the rest of the room, she caught the gloved fist coming at her and silkily threaded her body around Happy’s and sent him crashing to the mat. Effortless. Intoxicating.

Perfect.

The night of his birthday party, when the reality of it likely being his last weighed him down like concrete encasing his every limb, she’d looked him dead in and the eye and said, “I would do whatever I wanted to do, with whomever I wanted to do it with.” There it was again, shimmering in those too innocent eyes, the shadow flitting behind him. The shadow both teasing and warning him—like a siren sitting on the rocks, ushering him to his possible doom. But it wasn’t a come on, no matter how sultry her voice or how close she sat to him as she hid the bruises and cuts on his face with a light dab of cosmetics, she wasn’t trying to get in his pants.

He was Tony fucking Stark, he knew when a woman wanted him. She toyed with him. She intrigued him. She presented him with the most sumptuous puzzle he desperately wanted to solve, and she told him to indulge himself without judgment or reservation.

For one long moment, he debated canceling the whole thing and inviting her to get drunk with him. She wanted nothing from him, needed nothing, had no expectations, and God, he wanted to understand her. He wanted to forget about himself and dive after the shadow haunting her, rocks and danger be damned.

But he was Tony fucking Stark, and there was a party to be had, and it was his last.

So go out with a bang, right?

Then she stuck a damn needle in his neck, injecting the icy contents into his inflamed veins and burning muscles. The palpable relief a balm, but unable to soothe the razor sting of betrayal.

His father.

Countless would be girlfriends.

Obie.

Now Natalie…

She’d been in his life a mere handful of weeks. It shouldn’t have mattered. She shouldn’t have mattered.

Yet she did.

Worse, she abandoned him for Pepper once the secret was out, and left him with another puzzle. One he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to destroy or solve.

Maybe solve then destroy.

Then Rhodey happened…Vanko took over his suit, and nearly cost him his best friend. The other drones, he could deal with them, and he could pull the fight away from his expo, get it away from the civilians. Natalie— _Agent Romanov_ —was with Pepper.

Natasha would protect Pepper. No hesitation marked his choice there. She would keep Pepper safe, and he could concentrate on getting his Rhodey back and shutting down these damn drones.

Only JARVIS couldn’t get in.

The drones kept coming.

The people were panicking.

Then… “Reboot complete. You got your best friend back.” Agent Romanov’s voice washed over him like a cool splash on a humid, sultry day.

“Thank you very much, Agent Romanoff.” He used the version of her name Fury had given him. A name he’d mentally talied and at first opportunity would dissect.

“Well done with the new chest piece. I’m reading significantly higher output, and your vitals all look promising.” Cool, analytical, and almost proud? Was she proud of him? How odd. She’d lied to him. Betrayed him. Snuck into his company. Then jammed a needle in his neck.

 _To save you…_ A small, almost negligent whisper reminded him. _Sometimes, Anthony, you must look beyond what people say and do to why they say and do them_. His mother’s advice. Painful, but direct words. A sentiment he didn’t have time for in the middle of this damn fight.

“Yes, for the moment, I’m not dying.” Then almost as an afterthought, he added, “Thank you.”

A hint of a smile curved those lips, but he didn’t notice in the moment. Only later, when he reviewed all the footage from the fight and the communications. Pausing the image, he studied it, and beyond the soft contours of her mouth, and the way her dark red hair spilled all around her, were the green eyes both expressive and mysterious. The shadow glowed in them, and maybe it was the first time it happened, maybe it was the first time he’d seen _Natasha._

Then came Loki. The battle for New York. So much he missed during the insanity of the fight, his attention on a thousand different things, but later—days after the fight was over and he was in the middle of rebuilding the tower, he’d reviewed all the tapes and communications from every angle.

If Tony could understand what happened, he could learn and make it better.

He watched all of them fight, watched as she used those electric shock bracelets, switched up weapons from guns to alien tech—and God help him, he watched her leap off Cap’s shield and spin up into the air to catch the Chitauri chariot.

His whole body went hot and tense. It didn’t matter he knew she’d survived, more, she’d accomplished her goal of getting to the top of the tower and getting to the Tesseract, where it controlled the portal. Hell, she’d been at shawarma and later in Central Park when they’d sent Loki winging back to Asgard with Thor.

So why the hell was his gut clenched so damn tight as he watched her make the leap?

Why the hell did he watch it over and over?

Finally, pushing past that part, he neared the end of the conflagration, the moments after he ripped through the portal with the warhead. Sweat drenched his icy skin in those moments, every second of it etched into his memory before he saw the alien ship explode in the inky emptiness of space and his vision blanked out.

“C’mon Stark…” Two simple words delivered in that husky voice of hers. Husky with exhaustion, with emotion, with caring.

It was the first time it happened. The first time he heard it from her.

Then he returned to the moment she leapt off the shield and soared into the air with nothing but her talent and raw physical abilities. No suit. No armor. No high tech weapons.

Agent Natasha Romanoff was the weapon.

No wonder he found her endlessly fascinating. They used to call him the Merchant of Death and in some parts of the world, the appellation stuck. Tony Stark knew weapons, intimately. He built them. Designed them. Took the apart, and made them better.

Natasha was the perfect weapon.

The moment the thought had floated across his mind, he’d shoved it away. Mentally repulsed with categorizing the woman with a weapon.

But it never went away. Not fully.

Not during the Mandarin.

Especially not after the incident in Washington. SHIELD was Hydra. Who knew? Shady organization, master spies and their secrets had secrets. But Natasha Romanoff exposed all of hers.

Natalia Alianova Romanova.

All of her files dumped out into the world, all of her secrets ripped bare. She stood in the sunlight, bathed in her shadows, and she didn’t shy away.

Congress yanked her in front of them, her. Not Fury. Not Rogers. Not even Hill.

Natasha.

Why?

The Committee General glared at her, the numerous news cameras doing nothing to soften the angle. “Well, he could explain how this country’s expected to maintain its national security now that he and you have laid waste our intelligence apparatus.”

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “Hydra was selling you lies, not intelligence.”

“Many of which you seem to have had a personal hand in telling,” came the smart ass response. Natasha was the target. SHIELD’s weapon. That was why she was there.

Tony stared at the screen, his lab silent around him. He’d been unable to look away as the split screen gave equal time to Natasha sitting calmly at the table and the harried looks of the committee who alternated between fear and revulsion when they stared at her.

They weren’t seeing the woman anymore.

“Agent, you should know that there are some on this committee who feel, given your service record, both for this country and against it, that you belong in a penitentiary, not mouthing off on Capitol Hill.”

Scudder was a son of a bitch. If they made even one move in her direction, Tony already had his phone in hand. He had a half-suit ready to go, despite his promises to Pepper, he couldn’t not have it. He’d told her he would give them all up, he’d destroyed them for her. Had the surgery to remove his arc reactor and repair his chest. Solved the Extremis to save her life, and give up the suits.

In the meanwhile, Steve and Natasha had to face disarming SHIELD and destroying the apparatus, which would have killed millions…starting with him. Tony hadn’t missed his name on the list. His. Bruce’s. And so many more.

One shot. From a distance. Through the head.

Bye bye Stark.

None of those bastards were going to take her.

The shadow shifted in Natasha’s eyes, and Tony had found himself holding his breath. “You’re not going to put me in a prison. You’re not going to put any of us in a prison. You know why?”

“Tell them,” Tony whispered. Because she was right, they weren’t going to put her in prison.

“Do enlighten us.”

“Because you need us. Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we helped make it that way. But we’re also the ones best qualified to defend it. So if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You’ll know where to find me.”

Then she stood, and left them all. She ignored their questions, the shouted reprobations, and the insults. She threaded through the crowd smoothly without a shove or a push. The shadows in her eyes glinted, a light burning behind them.

He should have been in D.C. for the testimony, because when she stepped away from the cameras, she vanished. Jarvis couldn’t find her on any of the CCTV feeds around Washington.

Eventually she’d appear again, in New York, at the tower. Like so many of the other Avengers, she finally accepted his offer to move in and have her own floor. But even after poring through her files, after working together to break down Hydra cells in the hunt for Loki’s staff, the shadows in her eyes kept haunting him and held him captive.

She faced off with the Hulk, learned how to gentle the green rage monster into releasing Banner. His bro was never that calm for him. After the witch got in Stark’s head, he couldn’t let go of the image of Tasha dying.

She was Nat. Tasha. Not Agent Romanoff. Not anymore.

Natalia Alianova Romanova also faced the witch, and after the dust cleared and Tony got Banner under control or at least unconscious and met up with Hawkeye and the rest of the rocked team, it had been the shattered shadows in Natasha’s eyes which haunted Tony.

What the hell had she seen?

No one told him. Not Natasha. Not Barton.

But Tony couldn’t let it go.

Then it was over, they’d saved the populace, destroyed Ultron, created Vision, and lost Bruce.

Pepper left him two days later.

But Natasha was still there, her green eyes wreathed in shadows, and it was the first time it happened…Tony promised her he wouldn’t let anyone do that to her again.

Not Shield.

Not congress.

Not the witch.

Not himself.

He took a step back from it all, he needed to figure out what he wanted and how to achieve it. The team moved into the new compound he’d repurposed and the tower was quiet. Sometimes Natasha visited, but mostly she remained out there with the New Avengers.

She and Steve.

The weapon and the shield.

But Tony promised himself he would keep an eye on her, keep her as safe as he could. His fascination hadn’t diminished, not an ounce.

He missed her more than Pepper.

The knowledge cut deeper than the shrapnel, which used to be on course with his heart. Happy and Pepper used to tease him about being obsessive, and Rhodey admonished him for losing himself in his work.

Interest in Natasha hadn’t waned, but she wasn’t his and he’d promised himself to protect her even from himself. So he kept his distance.

Then the Accords.

Tony groaned and leaned his head back against the chair. Every muscle in his body ached. His bruises had bruises. The light on his phone continued to blink. General Ross was still on hold.

Ross.

The Accords.

Rogers.

Barnes.

 _He killed my mom_.

Pain eddied through him. He’d buried his parents two decades before. He’d hated his father for decades. He’d lost himself in booze, women, and weapons.

The most sobering moment of all was it had all been a lie.

Obie.

His parents’ ‘accident.’

His friendship with Rogers.

All lies. All stripping him down to the foundation, and the wreckage of the Avengers. Of knowing who he was and what he needed to do.

He was the mechanic. He took things apart so he could make them better.

But he hadn’t taken this apart. No, it had detonated right beneath him and unlike everyone else, he’d been at the epicenter of the destruction.

Natasha let them go.

Natasha who’d sided with him against Rogers.

The weapon against the shield.

The weapon recognized the need for restraint.

The weapon had.

Then she’d betrayed him. She’d let them go, and in pursuing the stolen quinjet, a careless move by Vision had sent Rhodey plummeting from the sky.

If Natasha hadn’t let them go, Rhodey wouldn’t have pursued, wouldn’t have called for Vision to turn Wilson into a glider, wouldn’t have been caught in the blast as Falcon arced away.

If Natasha hadn’t let them go…

“We? Boy. It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? Sticks in the DNA.” Anger flooded him…but beneath the anger had been hurt. She’d said he was right, she’d been on his side. She’d tried to help fight off the Winter Soldier when he triggered. Tony had gone down. Carter had gone down. Natasha whipped through the air like a blade, her whole body wrapping around Barnes’ head. She’d slammed her elbow into his head over and over again. Then Barnes crashed her into the table, his metal hand closed on her throat.

Barnes had disabled everyone else he fought. He’d cast them aside and moved on.

Tony’s heart nearly stopped when he realized the bastard intended to kill Natasha.

One weapon against another.

“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamned second?” The agony of emotion coloring every syllable of her statement jerked him from the memory. She’d stared at him, appalled? Questioning? Lost? He couldn’t get a read on her. That was the problem though, he’d never been able to get a read on _her._

“T’Challa told Ross what you did. They’re coming for you.” It was the least he could do. She’d signed the Accords and then aided and abetted, helping another weapon that had been intent on killing her. Rogers was blind, but Natasha, he didn’t think she ever had been.

Pain flared within the pulsing shadows of her eyes. Real pain. The fact he’d put it there cut him to the bone. “I’m not the one who needs to watch their back.” Then she was gone with a pivot of her heel.

He never found out how she left the compound. There were no recordings. Nothing.

She’d become the same shadow he’d seen in her eyes.

But the conversation pushed him, and he’d gone to the Raft. His people…his team should never have been there. And Wanda. Damn, witch or not, and tortured nightmares she’d left him with or not, she did not deserve that treatment.

So he’d gotten the info he needed from Wilson and he’d pursued Rogers. The evidence mounted that Barnes had nothing to do with the bombing of the Accords signing—a bombing that could have cost them all Tasha, too—that he’d been set up. He was still the Winter Soldier. A weapon, just like Natasha, and one now freed from its handlers.

Was a gun really evil?

Was a Jericho missile?

Tony went to help Rogers, to put aside his _goddamn ego_ as Natasha had admonished him, and instead of relief, he found that sometimes the shadows didn’t only hide beauty and secrets, but deep crevices of unending pain.

Barnes killed the Starks.

Barnes killed Tony’s parents.

He killed Tony’s mom.

The weapon…Steve said it wasn’t his fault. But Steve knew Hydra had killed his parents. Maybe he knew they’d used Barnes as their weapon.

Was a gun guilty? Was a Jericho missile?

Tony destroyed weapons so they couldn’t be used again, especially any he had a hand in creating.

Barnes had just been a weapon.

But he killed Tony’s mom.

The battle between the three had been brutal and in the end, Tony had been on his back in Siberia. His arc reactor shattered. His armor rigid and locked around him. His body freezing and his soul bleeding.

Zemo had gotten away. Rogers and Barnes, too.

A part of Tony was glad as darkness crept into him, as the shadows swirled and pulled him into the abyss. He could go to sleep, and maybe he’d die right there and it would all be over.

Then it happened for the first time… or was it really the first time?

_“Reboot complete. You got your best friend back.”_

_“C’mon Stark!”_

_“_ _Because you need us. Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we helped make it that way. But we’re also the ones best qualified to defend it. So if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You’ll know where to find me.”_

_“Are you okay?”_

He opened his eyes and there she was, leaning over him. The shadows writhed within her green eyes, slipping against a wet shimmer. The armor came off, and then he was tied to her side, his armor in a case and Cap’s shield strapped to her back. Somehow, she got him from the floor of the silo to a quinjet.

Inside, she strapped him into a cot, hooked up an IV, put blankets on him and then they were airborne. The engines rumbled around him as he passed in and out of consciousness.

Every time he opened his eyes, Natasha was there.

The last time he saw her, she changed out the IV and then touched a hand to his cheek. Her fingers were cool, almost cold, but maybe he was just too hot. Chills raced through him.

Natasha said nothing, she only stared at him and the shadows parted for a flicker of a second revealing heart wrenching sorrow. Tony couldn’t breathe.

He tried to say her name, but it only came out a hoarse gasp and then he couldn’t say anything.

When he opened his eyes again, Friday’s dulcet tones assured him they would be landing in a few minutes. She had control of the jet.

“Where’s Romanoff?” He asked. He had to know. Where was she?

“Unknown, boss,” Friday answered. “When I came online, she wasn’t here.”

There were no records of her in the logs. None in the videos. Only a half formed memory of pure sorrow to dig its blade into his heart.

The weapon he’d cast aside and hurt had come back for him, not to wound him, but to save him.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time he recognized it…recognized her.

“Boss,” Friday interrupted his rumination, dragging him away from the shadows he couldn’t stop venturing into. It had been three weeks since Siberia. Three weeks since the last time he saw Natasha.

Three weeks since she’d pulled him back from the abyss.

“Yeah, what?” There was a file open on his StarkPad, Natasha’s file. He’d had Friday sweep the web, pull every copy, bury the rest. He didn’t want her so exposed, and he should have done it a long time before.

Natasha’s face still populated the news channels, clips of New York, Sokovia, the aftermath of the Accords, and the congressional hearings. The news ticker read _Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, still at large…_

“General Ross is calling again boss, I think he got tired of being on hold.”

“Tell the general I’m out sick today, doctor’s orders.”

“You got it.”

Beyond his office, Rhodey practiced with his new braces. On his desk were open files, a StarkPad, and a phone along with the letter from Steve.

But Tony didn’t see any of that, all he saw was the sorrow in Natasha’s eyes.

“Friday…”

“Yeah boss?”

“Start a deep dive. I want to know everything about the Red Room.”

“On it.”

It was the first time it happened, and he gave into the hunger to know the weapon, because it meant understanding the woman. He should have done it all a long time ago.

But she hadn’t really needed him before, had she?

And he hadn’t failed her, either.

Picking up the StarkPad, he returned to his research. She was out there, and he might have to wait for her to find him again, but he would be ready.

He was the mechanic.

She had been deconstructed enough.

It was time to fix it.

Fix them both.

_Agent Romanoff, do you miss me? I miss you._


	2. Truth is a Matter of Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Wakanda, Steve doesn't want to leave Bucky's side as his best friend resides in cryo, but he can't get a certain spy out of his head. Especially when her name pops up in one of Bucky's journals.

 

Chapter Two

Truth Is a Matter of Circumstance

Steve

The dream started the same way. The ice slithered over him, leaving chills in its wake. Sometimes he had the shield. Sometimes he didn’t. It didn’t matter. It started with the cold. It started with Peggy’s voice calling his name, a strangled sob choking the single syllable. Like a sound captured in a bottle, he only heard it in the dream. A sense of inevitability accompanied it. From the moment the ice retracted, the world spun past him in a blur.

Time marched on while he’d been under the ice. The world changed. And who he’d been when he went under wasn’t who he was when he came out.

He just didn’t know enough then.

But she’d known. She’d looked at him and known. From their first meeting on the hellicarrier, Agent Romanoff—Nat had looked right through him. She’d seen past the shield, the uniform, and the propaganda.

A part of him didn’t think he’d measured up, but she was too busy looking for Barton. Or maybe he’d made too much of their first meeting.

The dream usually shifted at this point as she ushered he and Bruce inside as the great ship lifted off into the air.

Inside turned out to be rows and rows of computer banks, and the face of a man he’d captured but lost his best friend in the course of.

Nat whipped around to look at him, her eyes hard and her posture stiff.

_“Steve, we’ve got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. Thirty seconds, tops.”_

_“Who fired it?”_

_“SHIELD.”_

_“I’m afraid I have been stalling, Captain…”_

The world exploded then, the air super heating, the concussive force slamming into him even as he curled Nat to him and used his shield to keep the tons of rock from falling on their heads. From ice to fire.

From apathy to hell.

A part of him recognized the dream, he’d had it enough over the last few weeks. Ever since Siberia, since coming to Wakanda, since Bucky went back into cryo. The dream was like his nightmarish companion. He wanted to wake up.

He wanted to wake up before it reached its inevitable conclusion.

Yet he couldn’t move, trapped beneath the rubble, with only his arms bracing the shield to keep it off of them. Nat’s coughing gave way to breathlessness. Her grip on him went slack, and when Steve finally managed to shove the debris away and free his screaming arms, he looked down to find Nat’s vacant eyes staring at him.

“No...” Steve Rogers snapped awake and jerked forward. The chair T’Challa had sent to the cryo chamber room had been his bed for many nights. He had a suite of rooms, a suite the other Avengers currently occupied after he’d rescued them from the raft. Wanda barely spoke to anyone. Scott seemed lost. Sam…Sam spoke to Steve in measured tones and guarded syllables. He didn’t care for what Steve was doing, but he didn’t want to push him.

The damnable thing was Steve recognized it. He even recognized his current situation wasn’t the best. Bucky would be pissed at him. But to be mad, Bucky had to be out of the ice.

Glancing up at him, Steve let out a ragged breath. His best friend in ice, and every night Steve dreamt of his—what the hell did he call Nat? His partner, his friend, his…girl? No, not girl, she’d kick his ass. No matter the label he could verbalize for her, every night he dreamed of losing Nat to fire.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to push away the sleep and lingering disquiet. Nat was alive. He’d seen her a few weeks prior…when she’d let he and Bucky go.

God his stomach had bottomed out when she’d been waiting for he and Bucky in front of the quinjet. Of course she’d realized their plan, of course she’d been in the right place. She was always three steps ahead of him.

How the hell was he supposed to fight her, too?

 _“Truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time.”_ she’d told him on the long drive to Lehigh, New Jersey. _“And neither I.”_

What had he said to her? Sounded like a lonely way to live?

_“But a good way not to die.”_

How could anyone live their life like that? He didn’t think he’d ever understood it…

…until now maybe.

In truth, when he first met Natasha Romanoff, he’d seen another soldier. A fierce, dedicated woman who reminded him of Peggy and couldn’t be farther from Peggy if he’d tried to categorize them the same. Control and discipline radiated in Natasha’s every step, every word. She’d faced off against Banner and Loki with the same equanimity. It was so easy to forget how tiny she was, how seemingly fragile, when she held her own against gods and monsters.

God, how he’d wanted to trust her. In the field, in New York? With aliens pouring out of the portal in the sky? He’d had no choice. It was the battlefield, you had to trust the person standing next to you. But he’d trusted her before that?

He’d trusted her on the hellicarrier after Stark figured out where Loki had gone. He’d trusted her word about Barton, even though hours earlier Barton had been controlled by Loki. He’d trusted her to get them off the hellicarrier without Director Fury—a man Steve would love to trust but had long since accepted he couldn’t and was only just learning then he would likely never trust him—knowing where they were going.

She worked for Fury. She was an agent. She chose to follow him.

What had she said to Loki? “Regimes rise and fall every day, I tend not to weep over that. I’m Russian. Or I was.”

She’d been Russian, but she wasn’t.

She’d been an agent, but she wasn’t anymore.

She’d been an Avenger, chances were she probably wasn’t that now. Not after helping him.

She’d been his friend…

_“Who do you want me to be?”_

_“How about a friend?”_

He’d asked her to be his friend. As much as he struggled with the new world he’d awoken to, and the layers of secrets working for an intelligence agency required, one certainty existed—Natasha Romanoff was a powerful ally to have in your corner. She always got the mission done, she was talented, strong, smart as a whip, and gorgeous to boot. But she kept her own secrets, and she did whatever Fury asked her to—even missions behind Rogers’ back.

The Lemurian Star.

Steve groaned as he stood and stretched. She’d gone off comms, and he’d found her downloading SHIELD data. She’d told him rescuing the hostages was his mission, she had a different one.

They’d almost eaten a grenade during his distraction. And she’d accepted the responsibility, but Steve had been pissed.

Then he’d learned about Project Insight, and Fury had been shot in his apartment, and then the director died and Steve had to stand there while Natasha looked trapped in the moment. The moment between the director was alive, and the director was dead. It was a horrible moment, and if Steve hadn’t understood their relationship before. He got it then.

Natasha had loved Fury.

Then the son of a bitch turned out to be alive and the gutted look on Natasha’s face served as another sucker punch in a day full of them. Bucky was alive, and so was Fury. Nat was bleeding from a bullet wound—her second courtesy of Bucky, dammit—and staring at the man who’d let her think he was dead.

No, not let. No, Steve may not get a lot of the new century, but he understood what Fury had done. He’d made sure they all thought he was dead. All but Hill.

Nat lingered for nearly an hour with Nick’s body at the hospital when Hill told him they needed to take him. Of course they did, the drugs would have been close to wearing off and they didn’t want Nat to know.

Steve read it all in her face and he wanted to say he’d cared, and done something about it in that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d seen her hollowed out loss, and watched as the doctor grimly treated her while she refused any pain medication. Her expression barely shifted.

Nick betrayed her.

The worst part, was Nat’s casual acceptance.

Pacing around the quiet room with only the hum of the machines for company, Steve worked on stretching his legs and his arms. It was almost dawn. He’d leave Bucky for a while, and run. Then he’d check on the others, shower, have a meal and then make his way back down. He had a stack of Bucky’s journals to get through. They’d arrived in a box along with the backpack of things Bucky had been fleeing with in Bucharest.

He had no idea who sent them.

Nat, maybe.

It seemed like her.

But if it were her, then that meant she knew he was in Wakanda. If she knew that, then there was a chance Stark knew.

 _No,_ he told himself. _She wouldn’t tell Stark, not after Berlin. Not after the airport._

 _“For what it’s worth,”_ she’d said. _“This is what worse looks like.”_ The disappointment in her eyes when he’d been brought into Berlin, and the frustration—frustration he hoped was for the situation, not for him personally. Not after London.

She’d come to Peggy’s funeral. _“I didn’t want you to be alone._ ”

She’d been there for him to fight aliens. She’d been there as he navigated a new world. She’d been there to help hone his fighting skills— _“you’re a brawler Rogers, you need to learn a little variety._ ” Variety. Steve almost smiled at whisper of her words in her raspy voice.

Fighting with a woman wasn’t the problem. She was skilled enough. But so tiny. He didn’t want to hurt her. After an hour of handing him his ass, she’d asked him if he was ready to actually fight her and stop holding back. She’d even thrown in a sweet smile to soften the blow.

Didn’t matter if he’d been ready. She still kicked his ass.

Somehow weeks turned into months, and she’d varied her lessons from fighting skills to pop culture to modern conveniences to some on the fly spy training. She’d taught him to listen to everything people said, but especially what they weren’t saying.

In a world of strangers, she became a familiar beacon. And he’d asked her once, a sinking feeling in his gut. _“Are you here because Fury ordered you to be?_ ”

Without missing a beat, she shrugged. _“I was. He wanted me to evaluate you and to ease your transition.”_

His whole world bottomed out. He’d been looking for a friend, and maybe…fuck it, he wouldn’t lie to himself now. He’d looked for a bit more. Nat was gorgeous, capable, smart, and sexy. He’d have to be blind not to notice. But he was just another mission for her. A mark.

 _“Now ask me why I’m still here._ ” The knowing look in her eyes had sent a frission of shame through him. Every emotion he experienced played out on his face, he sucked at poker. Nat’s words, not his. She’d seen his doubt, and disappointment.

Seen it and didn’t flinch away.

Pausing to stare out at the dense foliage beyond the windows of the cryo chamber, Steve sighed. It was the same look he’d later seen in the bunker with Fury. The acceptance that she wasn’t trustworthy, that she wasn’t owed anything, and that his doubt and disappointment were reasonable responses just like Fury’s lack of faith in his top agent, the one he said was comfortable with everything.

Had she been comfortable with it all? Or did she simply not think she deserved anymore?

 _“Why are you still here?_ ” He’d murmured the words, not daring to hope for anything more. If Fury ordered her to be here, then he could accept it. She hadn’t lied to him…not when he’d asked.

 _“Because I want to be.”_ The forthrightness of her answer surprised the hell out of him. Nat wasn’t usually so blunt. She talked in circles, lured a person into following her down the path she set and well, what truth they took from it, that was on them. Then she surprised him again when she added, “ _I finished the evaluation three days after New York. I told Fury you were handling your immersion just fine a week later. Done deal.”_

A week later. They’d been hanging out for months. She’d been training him for months.

Yes, Fury sent her.

But Fury wasn’t why she stayed.

 _“So why all the dates?”_ Yeah, another habit of hers that was equal parts endearing and frustrating. She kept trying to set him up.

Nat’s grin, sly and full and warm lit him up. _“Cause it’s fun.”_

Steve let out a slow sigh. It was what she said right before she launched herself off his shield to catch a ride on an alien craft with only her wits and her faith in herself to keep in the sky. _“Sure. It’ll be fun.”_

Pacing back over to the journals, he gathered them together. He’d only made it through the half of the first one he’d pulled out of the bag. It was an invasion of Buck’s privacy, and he’d wrestled with the decision for a week. But when he’d come out of the ice, he’d started doing the same thing. Making lists. Writing things down. Nat told him about bucket lists, and choosing to do things for himself.

 _“I did it,”_ she told him much to his surprise. _“After SHIELD let me out. I made lists of things I wanted to do.”_

 _“What was the first thing you did?”_ He bet on her choosing something that would tease him, or make him blush. But she had a dry sense of humor, and sometimes a little dark and macabre.

Nat quirked her lips. It was a little thing. A faint moue like she contemplated his question seriously, then she slid out of the little flats she’d been wearing while they went out for coffee and a trip to the art museum—her idea, not his and he didn’t have anything to complain on that front—and wiggled her pale pink toes at him. “ _I got a pedicure and painted them all different colors._ ”

Simple. Elegant. Honest.

He adored her toes. Every now and then when they were alone, he’d ask her _what color_ and she’d get this little smile. Just the barest quirk of her lips, and she’d tell him.

It was their little thing.

Do new things. Do things he’d always wanted. Do things he’d never known he could want. Nat always helped with the last, and he’d gotten some fun experiences out of it.

So while he’d wrestled with looking at the journals Bucky kept for the long two years between the Triskelion and Project Insight and when he found him in Bucharest, he reminded himself—Steve wasn’t the guy who went into the ice, and Nat wasn’t the woman who went into holding at SHIELD when Barton brought her in, and Bucky wasn’t the man who fell off the train.

Steve wanted to get to know the man.

Those first few pages had been rife with so much pain. So. Damn. Much. Pain. All cobbled together sentences in five different languages. Cyrillic was the worst, but he worked on translating what characters he could make out. It was like a puzzle within a puzzle and it kept his mind humming even as it shattered his heart.

Bucky was _broken_. The disjointed ramblings on the page would see-saw between the color of hair to the taste of a pastry to a battle Steve barely remembered to a list of names.

The names confounded him for a while.

Until Steve looked a few up.

They were all dead.

All of them.

Howard Stark’s name had been there. Underlined. Splotched. And something like a monster drawn to the side.

It had taken Steve three days to go back to the books after that.

He glanced at the page he was on. It was mostly a description of procedures he’d endured. All neatly documented as though Bucky were detailing what groceries he needed to pick up. Arm replacements. Electrocutions. Strength tests. Blood draws. Mind wipes.

Not just wipes. A variety of them. Electro shock. Chemicals.

Steve stomach lurched. He didn’t want to know the horrors Bucky endured, but he didn’t dare turn away either. If Bucky could survive all of it happening to him, then Steve could damn well endure reading about it.

Flipping to the next page, Steve frowned.

_Natalia Alianova Romanova_

Nat.

Her name was written in the clearest script, all English block letters. Below it was a Cyrillic. Notes circled around the words as if he’d written in circles, or maybe his mind had gone that way.

Nat’s name wasn’t under the list of victims. She had her own page. His gaze tracked to the opposite page and amended the thought. She had two whole pages.

The French Steve could decipher. Red hair. Paris. Dancing.

The Cyrillic, he couldn’t make heads or tails of, not even with everything he’d already researched, except for one word.

 _Soldat._ He knew that word.

Soldier.

Soldat was added every few lines. Steve tried to figure out where the circle actually began, then tried to follow it. The words changed as he drew out from the center. Cyrillic at first. Then French. Then English. Some Italian. A scratchy few words in German. Was that Spanish? Then back to Cyrillic again.

The circuitous path broke at the bottom and one long word—in English—filled the remaining space.

 _Odessa._ It had been underlined over and over.

Had Bucky found a way to read Nat’s file on line?

_“The truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time. Neither am I.”_

The truth. He could almost see her standing next to him, firmly on his left. His partner. His second in command. _“Go ahead Rogers. Ask me why.”_

Except he couldn’t. Not after Vienna. Not after Berlin.

She’d been in the explosion. He’d been able to see her through the gap made by two vehicles. She’d sat on a bench near the Wakandan prince who’d lost his father. The prince looked stiff, stoic, and maybe a little lost.

Nat…God Nat seemed shaken. Her. She’d fought aliens. Had her world go up in flames from a missile strike. Put all her secrets on line and burned all her covers. She’d been rattled, but she’d always rolled with it.

The explosion here shook her. Soot smudged her face. She had her phone in her hand. She trembled. He couldn’t _not_ call her. Not when it was taking everything he had not to walk over to her. A part of him loathed himself for making the choice to only be a call.

She’d come to him when he needed her.

He’d called her.

 _“I know how much Bucky means to you... Stay out of this one, please. You'll only make this worse.”_ A gentle warning. A plea.

One he had to ignore.

Then in Berlin, when they’d arrived at the Joint Task Force, before everything went to hell—again.

 _“This is what worse looks like.”_ So disappointed. And he hadn’t backed down.

It was Bucky.

Then at the airport, she’d tried again. _“You know what’s about to happen. Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?”_ She stared right at him. Clint was there, he’d come when Steve called him. He was Nat’s closest friend and Steve recruited him to save his own friend.

Nat was left out in the cold.

Dammit, he was a bastard.

Then…at the quinjet. She’d stood there blocking his path and the fight had gone out of him. He didn’t want to fight any of them, but he couldn’t…he _couldn’t_ fight Nat.

 _“You’re not going to stop are you?”_ The quiet acceptance in her face, and her eyes. Suddenly it was if they were in the bunker again learning Nick Fury was alive. Or Steve’s apartment when he challenged their friendship. She didn’t really expect him to stop. She thought he’d go right through her.

All the time they’d spent together and she still didn’t think she’d earned any loyalty from him.

And could he really blame her? Here he was tearing apart her home again. _“Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t men it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”_ Her quiet plea had fallen on his deaf ears until that moment.

Nat had left behind the only life she’d ever known for one that she subsequently had to tear down because of what Steve learned. Because Steve said it went. All of it.

Then she lost Bruce cause Banner had hared off on her, abandoning her. Though she’d never said a word, she’d just gone back to work. Why should she? Everyone left her right? Regimes fell every day.

And Steve was taking away the Avengers, because of Bucky. Because of the battle that needed to be fought. Because he wouldn’t sign the Accords. Now she stood between he and Buck and their way out.

If he had to choose between Nat and Buck, what would he choose?

Even all these weeks later, knowing his choice, he couldn’t escape the sour burn in his gut. A glance at Bucky’s frozen face offered no comfort. Bucky hadn’t moved. He’d waited to see what Steve would do, but he hadn’t looked away from Nat and Nat hadn’t looked away from Steve.

 _“I can’t…”_ The naked honesty in his answer was exactly what she seemed to be waiting for and the hollowed out acceptance carved its way across her features. She lifted her arm, her widow’s bites charged and Steve braced for the impact.

 _“I’m going to regret this,”_ she said softly, almost too softly. Then she shot at T’Challa, and let he and Bucky go.

They dashed aboard the quinjet and took off.

Steve never looked back.

Somehow, he didn’t think Nat expected him to.

“Hey Cap,” Barton’s voice intruded on the quiet in the room and Steve glanced at the archer. Of all of them who’d come to his aid, Barton’s help had been the most unexpected. It wasn’t that the man wasn’t worthy in a fight or a friend, but he had a family and more, he was Nat’s friend and family. Maybe. Steve always thought there had been more between them or at least a past romance, but he didn’t know anymore.

Now Barton was here, with Steve. And he hadn’t said a word to him about the choices he’d made.

“You should come eat, Cap. You’ve usually done your run by now.” The archer eased his way across the chamber, his hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed. No threat, just taking a walk. He spared a glance for Bucky, then to the book in Steve’s hands. “Wanda has made some decisions and I think she’s waiting until you get up there so she can share them.”

She was going to leave them. And he couldn’t blame her. She…the Avengers were the only family she’d had left too after Pietro and now it was gone. Just like it was for Nat.

“And you should stop reading those books,” Barton advised. “Nothing you read is going to change what happened to him, but it might change how you look at him.”

“Is that how you did it with Nat?” Steve asked. He hadn’t brought her up once to Barton, not since he broke them out of the raft. “Just pretended her past didn’t exist, wipe it out and let her start over at SHIELD without knowing any of it?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but his expression never changed. He could be as cagey and unreadable as Nat. It was probably part of why they made such good partners—or had before Loki. After, they hadn’t worked together much and then Nat had become Steve’s partner.

“It’s a different situation,” Barton said, as if weighing each word. “I knew about Nat. I knew what she’d done. I had a kill order. Researching her was business. Can’t take someone out if you don’t know what they can do.”

“But you didn’t kill her.” He’d made a different call. That was what Natasha had told Loki. Barton made a different call and she owed him a debt.

“Why?” God help him, he had his finger on her name in Bucky’s book—maybe he could call it Bucky’s ledger—and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not after how he abandoned her. He’d told Tony that Bucky was his friend and Tony had said _“So was I.”_ Steve had made his choice between the two men no matter how much he wished he hadn’t been in the position.

Nat had been his friend, too. And she’d accepted the fact he wouldn’t choose her.

So why had Barton?

Guilt stabbed deep into Steve’s gut.

Barton was silent for a long time, his expression still inscrutable. He may has well have been carved from stone. Finally, he let out a little huff of breath. “Because she didn’t expect me to,” he said the words in almost a reverent whisper. “I had the drop on her, I had a clean shot. She had no weapons nearby and she was sitting there in this hotel robe, you could tell she’d just had a bath, and she was curled into a chair reading a book. There was a hot cup of tea steaming next to her. For all the world, she was just relaxing. And she looked like a kid, all scrubbed free of any artifice. I stared at her, finger on the string, all I had to do was release it.”

Fuck. Steve held his damn breath. He knew Barton had spared her, and yet he couldn’t escape the flash of hot and cold racing over his skin. A part of him wanted to leap out and protect the long ago Nat. But he’d still been under the ice when this happened.

A faint smile graced Barton’s lips and he shrugged. “I must have stood there for the longest minute of all time when she said, ‘Go ahead. Just do it already.’ Calm and relaxed, she waited for me to take the shot. No pleading. No fighting. Nothing. Just…”

“… acceptance that it was all she was going to get. A quick death.” Steve’s heart sank. He’d seen that expression on her face. He’d seen it flicker across before she schooled her features to expressionless again.

“Yeah,” Barton said with a nod, and then faced him. “I’ve killed a lot of people in the course of my career. A lot of them deserved it. Some of them got off too mercifully, but I couldn’t kill her. She didn’t…she’s never deserved that.”

“You chose her.” The realization sat like a lump in his gut. Barton had chosen Nat.

Steve hadn’t.

He’d done exactly what she expected.

Something indefinable drifted in Barton’s eyes. “That was then.”

And they hadn’t chosen her this time. They’d been on opposite sides.

“I’m sorry,” Steve offered. Weak compensation for the choices he’d made.

“I knew what I was doing,” Barton told him, and he was all business again. Whatever insight he’d been sharing was over. “Stop reading those journals Cap. They’re going to tear your heart out.”

Steve should have let the archer go, should have left it there, but… “Did she know him?”

Barton stopped.

“Did she know Bucky from before? Before SHIELD?” Was that why her name was in the book. She’d told him about Odessa. He’d seen her fight him. He’d seen Bucky nearly kill her on that street. He’d seen the dark marks around her throat he kept trying to block out when she appeared in front of the quinjet. Marks that looked like they’d been left by a metal hand.

Barton said nothing. Then… “Does it matter?”

It left him floundering. Of course it mattered. If Nat had known and she’d lied…again, if she’d lied to him again…he needed to know. “Of course it matters.”

With a glance over his shoulder, Barton regarded him with a chilly gaze. “Think about what you’ve read in that journal and look at your guy in that cryo chamber, then think about DC, and remember what he said about leaving Berlin—about how he fought his way out. Then you think about what Nat told happened in Odessa. Then you tell me again why it matters.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it.

If Nat knew…she could have helped Bucky maybe.

But why would she?

He’d tried to kill her twice.

“He didn’t know,” Steve said quietly. “They kept messing with his head.”

“He’s not the only one,” Barton said softly. “You think they saved all that fucked up shit for just the Winter Soldier?”

_“The truth is a matter of circumstances. It’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”_

She may not even have known. Or she had and decided it didn’t matter. She’d left that life. But had she left Bucky?

No matter how he tried to twist it, the questions resurfaced. Steve had never read her file. Not the one she’d dumped on the Internet. He hadn’t thought he needed to…it was enough of a sacrifice she’d already done it. But had he decided not to read it out of respect for her or because he was afraid it would change how he viewed her?

The truth of that circumstance left him uncomfortable.

“Steve,” Barton said, dropping the title and facing him once more.

“Have you heard from her?” Steve didn’t want to hear whatever admonishment Barton might have offered, no matter how much Steve deserved it. “I know you guys have other ways of reaching out.”

“No,” the archer answered dully. “Not a word since Wanda threw her into the side of the truck.”

The truck? Steve frowned. “What?”

“Nat and I were fighting at the airport, kind of like old times. She disarmed my bow, and we were taking it hand to hand…then Wanda just threw her into the truck and I didn’t see her get up. Not right away.” Profound shame echoed under the words. “Wanda told me I was pulling my punches…and she wasn’t wrong. But what she did to Nat wasn’t right either. When I looked again, Nat was gone.” His mouth twisted, and he shook his head. “I know she was alive at the end. You said she let you two go.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. It was all a mess. He’d screwed so much up. Tony. Nat. Barton. Wanda.

Bucky.

“Let’s go eat breakfast man and find out what Wanda’s plan is, cause we all know she’s leaving.” Barton told him before leading the way. Steve glanced back at the journal then Bucky again before he put it away in the bag. Then he stored it in the secure cabinet before following after Barton.

Steve needed to know her truth…he needed to read her file. Finish reading Bucky’s journals. He needed to figure it out. Because his truth…his truth had become a matter of circumstances, and he’d failed to be all things to all of his people all the time.

And he needed to do better. Bucky deserved it. Tony deserved it. Hell Wanda, Clint, Sam and Scott Lang deserved it.

No matter what Nat thought, she deserved it three times over.

 _Where are you Nat?_ The thought haunted him as he made his way up to the suite. T’Challa had confessed to turning her in to Ross for aiding in Steve’s escape before T’Challa learned of Zemo’s involvement and the framing. He’d expressed his regret, but all he knew was she’d disappeared. There was a worldwide manhunt, but Steve didn’t think they’d ever find her.

She’d always expected it, so she would have planned for it.

_Until the day she chooses to stop again like she did for Barton. Until the day she decides to let someone else take their shot._

His fists clenched.

He couldn’t leave her out there alone.

But what other choice did he have? Really?

At the door to the suite, he paused and took a long breath. He needed to be Cap for a while. He needed to be there for his people, he owed them that much. Then he needed to dig for the truth. He needed to be there for Bucky and Natasha.

“ _When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”_ She’d looked so damn lost.

 _“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.”_ Turning her quip back on her had earned him a faint smile.

 _“I owe you.”_ She’d said that about Barton. She didn’t need to about him.

_“It’s okay.”_

“ _If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?”_

No matter what ever else she’d been, she’d had his back. Even when Fury gave her side missions. She’d done her best. But she thought she had to ask. So he lied to her, because she _needed_ to hear it in a way she wouldn’t have believed the truth. If he’d told her he already did. No, she needed to feel like she’d earned it. _“I would now. And I’m always honest.”_

Relief flickered in her eyes and softened her lips. Thinking back on that moment, he understood what Barton had described to him. She looked so damn young. _“Well, you seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing.”_

It wasn’t funny and it still made him laugh. Because he got it. That dark, macabre sense of humor resonated with him. _“Well, I guess I just like to know who I’m fighting.”_

He always had. But he also liked to know who he was fighting for and he’d tangled all of it up.

She may have traded in the KGB for Hydra unknowingly, but Steve was done trading his friends for each other. None of them deserved it.

Pushing open the door, he made a promise. No more trades. No more leaving anyone out. He did like to know who he was fighting for and dammit, Nat deserved to have someone fighting for her, too. Especially someone who kept tearing her life apart.

_Be safe, Nat. Please be safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, none of these characters belong to me. They are all the property of Marvel, etc. I'm just playing in the sandbox.


	3. Remember Very Differently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, Clint Barton was sent to take Natasha out but he made a different call. Their loyalty to each other goes deeper than most know, and he's privy to secrets of hers he will never tell. But somewhere along the way they've drifted apart and he needs to right their course.

Chapter Three

Remember Very Differently

Clint

 

Clint settled against the wall of the suite’s shared living room when he returned. Wanda perched on the edge of an armchair, nervousness writhing over her even as she attempted to sit as still as possible. Sam occupied the sofa to her left, he’d been sprawled out watching a recording of a basketball game—turned out Wakanda could tune into a lot of satellite television, who knew? Course, who’d known about damn Wakanda. Bastards made SHIELD’s secrecy look like child’s play.

Then there was Scott… Clint hadn’t met Lang before he’d gone to pick him up for Leipzig, but the man could sleep anywhere as evidenced by his boneless lump snoring on the carpet on the far side of the coffee table. Maybe it was his own criminal history—though based on Clint’s research, Scott was less of a criminal and more of a do-gooder with flexible morals—but he genuinely seemed untroubled by their circumstances whether facing off against the other Avengers, or being trapped in a cell in the most highly secured facility for super villains or languishing in relative luxury in a country which bordered on myth.

Nope. A soft snore escaped the man and reiterated his dedication to a nap. Sam, on the other hand, had been evenly split between worrying over Steve and Wanda. The young woman, and damn was she young, had dined on a life of hardship, misery, and self-flagellation (or why else would she have let Hydra turn her inside out and give her powers she could barely control), only to lose her last family member as a result of their hubris.

Wanda was a mess. She was an Avenger because Clint had given her that pep talk in the middle of the battle. She’d frozen, agonizing fear holding her captive, and Clint told her it was okay. She could hide, he would send her brother for her. Or she could get up, and go out there and fight. If she did, she would be an Avenger.

Out the door she went.

Later, he pulled her out of the compound and that was on him even more than Sokovia. Sokovia had been about pure survival, the compound? Well maybe that had been Clint’s hubris. He owed her a debt because her brother died saving Clint’s life. Not a fair trade some days. But he’d only decided to _rescue_ her from the compound because Steve said Tony had her on house arrest. It was only later when Wanda admitted she hadn’t been aware of it, that she and Vision had actually been enjoying themselves and sometimes…sometimes she missed the compound, but more she missed him.

Still, Clint couldn’t go back in time and change it. He’d rescued her or at least told himself he was, because there was a haunted quality to Wanda. A haunted young redhead who looked far too young and too soft for the brutal world she inhabited.

In so many ways she reminded him of Nat, but they were superficial similarities and he doubted anyone but him saw the comparison. Sometimes he wished Nat had been more like Wanda, a little softer, a little easier to comfort, a little easier to understand…and he hated himself for it because he wouldn’t change a damn thing about Nat. Not one.

Save if he could turn back a clock and rescue her four-year-old self from the snow before Ivan fucking Petrovitch ever held an empty thought about doing the same.

 _“Clint, you’re going to be all right.”_ The ghost of her words drifted over him, a whisper from the past. And only a whisper, because Nat hadn’t spoken to him since Leipszig. No coded messages. Nothing in their shared email—the one where they left notes in the draft folder, never sent, and always deleted when the other read them.

He’d left five.

They were all still there.

“Hey Clint, did Cap say…”

The door to the suite pushed in as Steve arrived, and he gave the group an apologetic look. It was early, but they were all up. Their sleep schedules were all skewed. “Sorry, I’m here.” He nodded to Sam, but his attention was on Wanda. She’d jumped a little at his arrival and lacked the skill to cover the slip. “Sorry Wanda, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him, paying lip service more than accepting the sentiment genuinely. Strain hovered in the wary lines of her mouth, and her lips compressed once too often. A hint of perspiration dotted her forehead and Clint would bet even money that if he put two fingers to her pulse it would be rabbiting. She’d made a decision, terror of how they would respond held her captive.

Nope. Fuck that. “Wanda when do you want to leave?” Clint dropped the question into the silence with perfect precision. Steve jerked a glare at him and it was Sam’s turn to flinch. Neither man got to pretend they didn’t know it was coming. Sam could read the temperature of the room well enough and Clint had flat out told Steve.

“I…” She bit at her lip, and twisted to meet Clint’s gaze. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. God, she was so damn innocent it made his heart hurt. Every emotion flitted across her face, and she couldn’t disguise it if she tried. So no, he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know what she’d decided or why.

Blowing out a breath, Steve leaned against the side of the sofa and folded his arms. “It’s okay, Wanda. You can tell us. No one’s going to hold you back or judge you.”

Best damn thing Steve had said in weeks. The man had changed sometime between leaving the airport and pulling the rest of them off the Raft. Whatever happened in Siberia changed him, not that he’d deigned to share any of it with them.

“Thank you,” Wanda mouthed to Clint before she looked to Sam and Steve. “Wakanda is amazing and T’Challa has been very kind, but…after…” A hiccup strangled her words, like she’d hit a speed bump. She clenched her ringed fingers together, and the dad in Clint just wanted to go hold her hand and tell it would be okay.

But he couldn’t do that. He’d kind of forfeited the right when he’d kicked the baby bird out of the one safe nest she’d found.

Her.

Nat.

Fuck, he had to stay focused here. He saw everything better at a distance and since arriving in Wakanda, he’d had nothing but distance. They’d fucked up in epic ways. Him by pulling Wanda into this. Wanda by throwing Nat into a truck. Steve for not finding a better way.

Maybe there hadn’t been a better one, but at least Nat had tried.

“…I thought I’d go home to Sokovia, they’re still rebuilding. There are places I can go.” Wanda was talking again. “I just need to go find me. Find who I can be or want to be.”

“And you can’t do that here, where it’s safe?” No matter how gently Cap framed the question, it still held an element of judgment. But Clint let that go, Steve cared and he didn’t want Wanda hurt. None of them did.

“I think safety is an illusion, Steve,” she told him almost sorrowfully. “I’ve never really believed it and I haven’t since the day that ordinance killed our parents. For two days…for two days, Pietro and I lay underneath that bed, huddled together, and staring at the bomb that hadn’t exploded. We kept waiting for it to blow and to kill us.” The hitch in her breath smoothed, and she sighed. “I’m doing that here. I’m waiting for the next explosion and I can’t do that anymore. I liked what we had at the compound, but Lagos…Lagos was my mistake. There are people dead because I didn’t control that explosion. They triggered the Accords.” Then she held up her hand when both Steve and Sam straightened, denial on their lips. “Don’t, it doesn’t matter if there were other reasons contributing to it. Pietro and I made a mistake with Ultron, we let our need for payback influence our choice to follow him and yes, we learned better but we’d done damage. Then…then Lagos. So…”

She spread her hands, and Clint dropped his chin to his chest. “You need to watch yourself out there,” he told her. “Don’t use your abilities where you’ll be seen. Change your hair and your clothes. Wipe away the makeup and ditch the rings.”

Everyone’s attention riveted to Clint.

“Keep your chin up, meet other people’s eyes. The best way to go on the run is to not run, but walk. The best way to hide is in plain sight. Sokovia is good, but stay on the move. You’re young, a backpacker in Europe is the way to go. Work on your accent, try to get as far away from Eastern European as you can. If you can’t, well try to exaggerate it like you’re putting on an affect. Folks will think it’s cute and dismiss it. Keep your head on a swivel, always know where the exits are and make sure you keep a bag with some items and cash stored in a bus locker, somewhere away from where you’re staying in whatever city you’re in. You can move it as you move.”

It was a crash course, but she had a lot to learn.

“Seriously man?” Sam eyed him and Clint shrugged before pushing away from the wall.

“She’s not a prisoner,” he reminded the other two men. Scott was still snoring, so they’d fill him in later. “If she needs this and she’s asking for it, then she gets to do it. Now, I’m going to eat.”

Then think about his kids, he hadn’t talked to them in weeks. Didn’t dare risk it. Laura used to understand the job, the distance he had to keep, and the months he would sometimes be away. She hadn’t understood this time, not when he’d said he retired. Not when he pulled a packed go bag out and left in the middle of the night.

 _“You were just pretending to be here full time, weren’t you?”_ The accusation might have hurt, if it hadn’t been true.

Steve and Sam were still talking to Wanda but Clint headed over to where their hosts had laid out a buffet. Maybe Wanda had the right idea and it was time to get out of Wakanda and figure out how to go home again. Course, being a wanted criminal limited his options, but he’d gone dark before. He could get back into the world, take some jobs, make sure he had money funneling to his kids.

 _And look for Nat…_ The insidious little voice in the back of his mind whispered. It always phrased it in mission parameters, cool and calculating. Of all the people involved in the conflagration over the Accords, he’d known Nat the longest. If he was the reason Wanda ended up in this mess, well, he’d done it to Nat first.

He’d pulled his shot. He’d offered her sanctuary instead. And fuck if Fury hadn’t almost dropped him into the bottom of a cell for it. He’d seen the former director in a lot of different ways over the years. Terse. Sarcastic. Tense. But he’d never seen him as coldly, bluntly furious as he had when Barton walked in with a handcuffed Nat.

Even after they’d taken her away to a cell and for interrogation, he’d stood there and took it as Fury tore a strip or three off his hide. Clint almost grinned at the memory, it was probably the only time in his career Fury actually scared him. It also occurred to him during the dressing down that Nat might already be dead. They could have taken her down to a cell and put a bullet in her head.

The kill order still existed.

Then Coulson walked into the office in the middle of the tirade and cleared his throat.

That was it, just cleared his throat.

Fury paused and stared at him. Finally, he said, “She’s your problem. And he’s yours,” the last he added as he jabbed a finger at Coulson. “Get this shit figured out. We do not need a loose cannon psychopath running around who can kill people with her pinky.”

And that was it, his offer to Natasha had been backed up by Phil Coulson clearing his throat.

Coulson, who was dead because Clint had been mind-controlled by Loki, helped him save another assassin who had suffered from mind control. Not that they had any idea of how bad it had been, not at first. Not even in the first year.

Irony was a real bitch sometimes.

Plate loaded, Clint spared a look toward the living room. Sam and Steve were gone and Wanda had also disappeared. Scott was still snoring.

With a shrug, Clint carried his plate to his own room. It wasn’t high enough, but he could head out later and stake out some roof real estate and get a bird’s eye view. It helped him to sort things.

 _“Clint, you’re going to be all right,”_ she told him.

 _“You know that? Is that what you know? I got to go in through. I got to flush him out.”_ Those moments in the cell while he sweated out the god of mischief were forever imprinted in his mind. How the hell did he get the guy out? How did he get his brain back? He’d been there, right there, watching as he shot the director, as he’d stolen items, as he’d hired fucking mercenaries that would give their right eye teeth to stick it to SHIELD. Then he’d fought Natasha and fuck if he hadn’t tried to kill her.

 _“We don’t have that long. It’s going to take time.”_ So gentle. So blunt. They didn’t have time for his self pity. She’d spent six months in deprogramming and a 9x8 cell before she earned the right to do little missions with Clint. Then another year of closely monitored progress, and all the while, he’d had no idea the hell she’d endured.

Time?

No, he didn’t have a year or two years or five to put it all aside. They had a job to do, but…didn’t she understand what Loki had done to him? _“I don’t understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain out and play? Pull you out and send something else in? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?”_

Then she humbled him, her expression remote and her eyes a thousand miles away. Or maybe only a few years into the past if that. Had she ever gotten all of them out? _“You know that I do.”_

Fuck, Barton. Get it together. The soft slap of reality reminded him he was supposed to be her anchor. Be there for her. Not the guy who tried to kill her and then fell apart because a god decided to use his brain as a blender. _“Why am I back? How did you get him out?”_ What he didn’t ask was how did she keep him from killing her? Later, much later after that conversation, after the portal was closed, after he spent a few weeks in medical and another couple of months in Iowa with his family, he’d hack into the tapes of her interrogation with Loki. He’d listen to what Loki told her, hear Clint’s betrayal of her secrets.

He’d exposed her to someone who used his words like a knife to carve away and slice at her.

_“Love is for children. I owe him a debt.”_

But that would be much later and Nat never spoke to him about it. She always said the same thing. _“Don’t do this to yourself, Clint.”_ And once, just once, after Ultron, after SHIELD fell, after Rogers had replaced him at her side, he’d demanded why couldn’t he? Didn’t she do the same thing? Didn’t she feel every death? Wasn’t that why there was red in her ledger?

Wasn’t that why she’d followed Rogers instead of waiting for him? Or was she just pretending it all mattered while underneath she was just the savage fucking assassin he’d had a kill order to take out?

The words weren’t the worst part. No, the way he’d said them, the emotion he’d infused them with…with cold, brutal efficiency, he targeted her weak spots and fired. Nat stared at him for a long moment, and her mask fell seamlessly into place. A curtain cutting him off, leaving him on the outside.

 _“You should go see your family,”_ she’d said. _“You need to spend time with them. Give Laura and the kids my love.”_

Then she walked away.

It had been the last time he’d seen her before Leipzig. The last time he’d spoken to her.

She never returned his calls.

She was always out.

Always on a mission.

His messages went unanswered.

He’d attacked her in a place he’d made vulnerable, a place she’d allowed him to make vulnerable.

Stabbing his fork into a potato, Clint sighed. If he were dead honest, the reason he’d gone when Rogers called him was because he half-expected Natasha to be there. Yes, she’d signed the Accords. He even understood why she did. Natasha made no bones about how dangerous she was and the worry about becoming compromised. How could she not?

Eighteen months after he spared her life, she threw herself into situation after situation that could get her killed. She accomplished her missions with brutal efficiency, often returning bloody and broken, abused by whatever mark they’d targeted, but always proud of what she’d come out with and when he’d demanded to know why she’d taken so many risks, she’d given him a blank look.

 _“Because a mission must be_ successful _.”_ The emphasis on the last word dug deep into his marrow. Success of the mission trumped everything, even her own safety. If she had to let a mark beat her up to interrogate her, as long as she got the information, that was fine. When she let them drop her into situations with no extraction plans, and hell to wade through to get out? That was fine, too.

And she came out marked up, cuts, bruises, bloody noses, broken bones, and black eyes. Fuck he hated seeing her like that. But she always brushed aside concern, and she _hated_ medical. Unless she was bleeding out and on the verge of unconsciousness, he couldn’t get her there. She’d stitch up herself, treat her own injuries and then disappear back to her place with a bottle of vodka.

After the worst missions, they always gave her a couple of weeks of leave. She always came back in relatively one piece and her injuries healed. Even the broken bones.

Clint might have always seen at a distance, and it was probably why he missed it for so long, he’d gotten too close to her. He started putting off his trips home to spend time with her. At first it had been to help her acclimate to a new life. A life with choices she could make for herself, and movies to watch. For all that she _knew_ things, she didn’t always understand them.

But it wasn’t until after the mission in the Ukraine, after he’d found her bleeding out from a gut shot and near death, after he’d spent hours in a med evac and even longer in the waiting room of some dingy hospital while they tried to piece her insides back together before he could evac her to the States—it wasn’t until then that he recognized two things.

She healed faster than humanly possible, her color and energy rebounding on the flight at unnatural speed.

And he was falling in love with a woman who wasn’t his wife.

He wasn’t sure which fact startled him more.

Nat refused to go to medical back at SHIELD, she filed her report that an assassin had shot out her tires, then killed the engineer after they’d tumbled down the cliff. The words were impersonal, she’d sustained an injury which impeded the success of her mission.

The last statement, however, stopped Clint cold.

She would await the proper punishment.

Proper.

Punishment.

He’d hunted down the safe house she’d scampered off to, not her apartment. No her apartment was SHIELD purchased, Nat had safe houses in a lot of cities. She always set them up, and he knew of three of them. She’d trusted him with those.

Bottle of vodka in hand, he’d walked into her safe house and found her in a bra and yoga pants, one hand peeling away the bandage over a wound that should still be angry and oozing, but looked a couple of weeks old rather than three days.

Her other hand had a gun in it.

Clint looked from the injury, then to her eyes. Wariness reflected back at him. He held up the bottle of vodka, and she lowered the gun, safety on. “We need to talk.”

Food done, Clint pushed the plate aside and leaned back on the bed. They’d sat on the sofa in her safe house apartment that night, too. She’d drunk the vodka on her own, he’d sat and listened and kept his hands to himself.

Even when all he wanted to do was hug her.

Natalia Alianova Romanova wasn’t twenty-five years old. She hadn’t been born in 1984. She didn’t actually know what her birthdate was. She hated hospitals and medical wards because when she ended up in them, they experimented on her. They injected her with chemicals that turned her inside out. They burned her up like tinder. A lot of times when she came out, she didn’t remember who she was anymore and sometimes it took years to put the pieces back together.

Most of the pieces didn’t fit. Not anymore.

Clint had wanted to throw up. But he said nothing. He waited her out. She kept drinking. When she’d finished the bottle of vodka he brought. She went into her kitchen and came out with another.

Despite the level of alcohol, she wasn’t close to tipsy. Her eyes were focused but distant as though she were a million miles away or maybe a few decades. _“You asked me how come I didn’t get drunk…and I told you it was because I’m Russian.”_ Yeah, she had. She had always been able to drink him under the table.

_“It’s because of what they did to you, isn’t it?”_

One nod.

_“And you don’t know all the details?”_

Another nod.

_“And no one else at SHIELD knows?”_

How the fuck had they missed it? Hadn’t physicals been required? Hadn’t she submitted to numerous tests during the six months she’d been on probation and going through deprogramming.

Nat avoided his gaze.

_“You lied to them.”_

She bit her lip. It was the first tell he’d ever seen her let slip. _“I didn’t want them to experiment on me, too.”_

Then…the idea seemed anathema to Clint. He understood the fear logically, but he trusted SHIELD. In hindsight, especially after learning how deep Hydra had been embedded in the organization, he couldn’t help but be profoundly grateful he hadn’t ratted her out.

_“Please don’t tell them.”_

Please.

Nat hadn’t said please to him once. Not once since he’d made the call to bring her in.

How could he tell her no?

 _“Is there anything else I need to know?”_ It was the safest question. Give her back the control that she so needed, control they’d taken from her time and again in the years before—God how many fucking decades had they controlled her? _“Is there anything else you want me to know?”_

The second question was far more provocative than the first. As sick as he’d been the first time she described being programmed with new memories for a deep cover sleeper assignment or the worse memories, she could recall the fragments of running away from her handlers, escaping, and a magical week in Paris. Then it was all pain, shocks, and darkness, he hung onto every bit of memory she shared with him. Her trust in him was precious, and he wouldn’t betray it.

Not ever.

A promise he’d been able to keep until Loki.

 _“In Odessa…I think I knew the shooter.”_ Each word carefully measured as if she awaited his anger, or a blow that should be coming. The _punishment_ she seemed to expect for her failure. _“In the Red Room, where I was trained…there was a man with a metal arm. I can see him in my dreams sometimes. Sometimes when I’m awake, too. He was…special. He taught me English. He taught me to fight. I think he taught me a lot of things.”_ The hesitation there, the way her head tilted and her expression softened sent a bolt of unwarranted jealousy through him. How dare he be upset over her finding even a smidgen of joy in that hell hole. _“Maybe…but I saw him on the ridge. The shot that took out the tire, it was his. The car went down, I got the engineer out, he was alive. The sun glinted off the metal arm…I knew it was him, and I thought…I thought I know him. I_ trusted _him.”_

The earlier jealousy had nothing on the unrestrained fury of it boiling through him. Nat didn’t trust anyone. Not Fury. Not Coulson. Maybe Clint, but he suspected before that moment, maybe not as much as he’d hoped.

She’d swallowed, and gave a little shrug, then looked at him with those fathomless green eyes. _“So I blocked his shot with my body. I trusted him not to hurt me. I had to protect the engineer. That was my mission…”_

 _“You couldn’t have predicted he’d shoot the man through you.”_ Clint had found her. He’d seen the damage done. She’d nearly been dead. He could kill the metal armed fucker.

 _“Except I had a shot,”_ Nat’s voice came out so soft, so slow. _“I could see him. I had a weapon. I didn’t shoot…”_

Clint closed his eyes. Nat always fought back. The only time he’d ever seen her look even remotely like this had been the night he’d come to kill her. The night he’d found he couldn’t. _“You trusted him and you didn’t_ want _to shoot him.”_

He wanted to kill the bastard a thousand times over now.

Nat shook her head slowly, then blinked and one tear escaped daring to break cover and compromise her seeming calm. _“I failed that mission, Clint. Not because he shot the engineer, or me but because I didn’t shoot him. I failed my training…”_

Conditioning Nat to accept a gentle hand on her arm or shoulder, a comforting touch had taken a lot of time. It had taken her months to trust him enough, and that told him more than anything how unfamiliar she was with kindness or touch that asked for nothing in return.

Despite all of it, he’d wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against him carefully. Fast healing or not, she’d been close to death and he didn’t want to hurt her anymore than she already had been. More startling, Nat let him and she leaned into him.

She terrified him. She’d nearly died. She opened up about a deeply buried secret and she’d cried. Then she’d let him hug her.

Leaving the suite, Clint found his way to the roof and settled into a shadowy patch with a good view. Below people came and went, and around them a city bustled with its odd combination of rustic charm amidst the metropolitan atmosphere.

Nat would probably find Wakanda fascinating. She blended into any situation with a seamless kind of ease, and she loved to make new discoveries. Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed. Odessa changed a lot for Clint…Nat changed because of Odessa.

They got closer. And he admitted his feelings for her had changed, but refused to act on them. Laura still mattered. His wife. Nat was his friend. She was his kids’ Aunty Nat. More she was someone he’d saved and she needed one person in her life who liked her for her not for what she could do for them.

Clint had been determined to be that person. Then Loki happened.

Steve Rogers.

SHIELD fell.

The Winter Soldier returned.

He kept waiting for Nat to show at the farm, one week, two weeks, three weeks after her congressional appearance. The only message he’d received was during his undercover assignment had been a code he and Nat established a long time ago.

The word Dante hit his screen from an unknown number, a burner phone.

But his gut told him it was Nat. Clint didn’t hesitate, he packed up his gear and vanished into the night without telling anyone on the team he’d been working with. At the time he’d been somewhere in Thailand. By dawn the next day, he sat in a safe house in Hong Kong. One of the few he and Nat had put together themselves. He rode out the fall of SHIELD like it was a spectator sport and his best friend was in the middle of it.

He saw footage from a highway incident (replayed intermittently with the destruction of the Triskelion) and overlaid with dozens, upon dozens of revealing exposes about the now infamous Black Widow.

Nat’s file was in the open.

Nat had been in the open.

Worse, the Winter Soldier had been hunting her. He’d seen the cobbled together footage, that bastard had been after her.

He’d shot her.

If not for the Congressional hearings less than five days after it all went down, Clint might have lost his mind. She was alive and already healing. The wound was probably just a pucker of flesh by now and he remembered how to breathe.

Still, she sent no other word to him after _Dante_ , for his Inferno and abandon all hope ye who enter here. They’d only ever used it once before, Clint had her bail in Budapest when an entire mission had been compromised—probably something to do with the Hydra infestation. The exodus turned into a firefight amidst a riot, and chaos. Somehow, they made it through to the other side.

Somehow.

One week after the hearings, Clint returned to the States. He kept in touch with Laura and returned to the farm only after he did a deep web dive on released SHIELD files. His name wasn’t in any of them. His family was safe.

His name was also missing from Nat’s files. It had been replaced with a generic designation of agent-in-charge. Nat released the files and she’d scrubbed him out of them. She’d gotten him out before the Hydra message released—hey yay, thanks for that, he’d finally gotten to tell her. Turned out the whole strike team he’d been working with were all Hydra.

She’d saved his life.

And still she didn’t contact him or come to the farm. One month after the hearings he heard from Stark. Nat was in New York, living at the newly christened Avengers Tower, did Clint want a floor too or would he and Nat be sharing?

The team had no idea about his family, they like nearly everyone assumed he and Nat were together. The cover helped to keep his family safe. It took him less than a day to let Laura and the kids know he was heading back, they had a lot of work to do to clean up SHIELD’s mess and he could do that better with the Avengers.

He told Tony he could drop him wherever. Nat greeted him with a hug and sad smile when he got there.

She didn’t talk about the Winter Soldier.

But Steve did…

Steve was on a mission. The Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes, his best friend and as he briefed the team on everything he’d learned and his continued plans, Clint locked eyes with Nat.

A subtle headshake. A faint movement.

No, Rogers didn’t know.

No, she didn’t plan to tell him.

Clint knew her better than anyone, but he stood aside as she buried her feelings. Her choice. He hated it, but she had the right to make her own calls. Even the bad ones. Too many had taken away her choices, even SHIELD. She chose to go straight and look what they did.

They never discussed it again. Clint let her have her privacy. And for a while, they did okay. The band was back together, even Thor. Tearing up Hydra bases, and rooting out corruption proved a full time job.

Then Ultron.

Squatting, Clint focused on the distance. Nothing had been the same after Ultron. Nat had some crush on Banner, and then Banner was gone. Laura had thought it was hilarious he hadn’t seen it. Then his wife didn’t know Nat the way Clint did. Nat wanted to find someone worse than she was, she didn’t see herself as anything other than a monster. Banner wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t the guy for Nat.

But after Ultron and his injuries, Laura asked him to retire. Asked him to step aside for her, and for the kids. Maybe it was time. Nat was okay, she had a solid team around her and Rogers’ had her back.

Leaving her though had been a damn difficult decision, he just hadn’t realized she would cut all ties with him. She was always busy, there was always a mission, and their contact grew farther and farther apart.

Now he’d give anything to see her again.

Anything.

 _“We’re still friends, right?”_ She’d asked him during the fight at the airport. It was like sparring all over again. They knew each other so well, but she’d gotten faster or maybe he’d gotten slower. She’d taken his bow away like it was nothing.

God it was good to see her again. _“Depends on how hard you hit me.”_ It was worth it to see the spark in her eyes, and then Wanda threw her. The moment was over. Nat was gone.

Fuck.

During the Battle of New York, she’d said _“It’s just like Budapest all over again.”_ That had been a hellish night, but it hadn’t involved aliens. It hadn’t involved Nat looking so alive. She was a spy, not a soldier, but despite playing Loki in the interrogation—the god of mischief had gotten to her.

_“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”_

He couldn’t stay in Wakanda anymore…she was out there somewhere and he had to find her.

“Barton!” Rogers’ voice pulled him from his ruminations as the other man crossed the roof to where he’d settled.

“Cap.”

The sun had changed its position in the sky. He’d been up here for hours.

“Hey.” Without much preamble, Steve dropped to sit against the buttress Clint had been resting in the shadow of. “Wanda’s gone. T’Challa flew her to Sokovia. She promised to check in and let us know how she’s doing.”

“Good,” Clint said, meaning it and not at all sorry he didn’t get to say goodbye. He’d had enough of those. “She’s a smart kid.”

“She’s on the run and that’s my fault…”

“Cap, we can beat ourselves up about it all day, but we all chose to be there. We all accepted it might be the price we paid to stop more Winter Soldiers in the world. Good or bad info aside, we had to make sure.” And it was how he lived with himself when Laura asked him not to come back when he walked out the door. Not unless he planned to stay the next time, for good.

“Yeah and I appreciate it.”

Especially since it meant working alongside Barnes—sort of. Nat’s Winter Soldier wasn’t a myth and though he didn’t seem to recognize her at the airport, he’d apparently added her name to his little mental salad of a journal. In fact, Clint would wager money Nat or Barnes or both was the reason Cap came to find him.

“I need a favor,” Cap said without any irony.

Bingo. “I’m listening.”

“I tried to look up Nat’s file, the one she dumped along with the rest of SHIELD’s files.”

“You hadn’t read it before?”

“No.” No explanation, just a simple denial.

“And you want to read it now?”

“I wanted to know…” Steve frowned. “I wanted to know if she had any other mentions of the Winter Soldier in her file.”

“There wouldn’t be any mentions of him.” Clint didn’t doubt the fact. Not unless some idiot Hydra operative added it. Nat had never revealed that piece of info, not in her debriefs or follow ups. Clint knew, and he’d let her get away with it.

“But Odessa…that was a SHIELD op, right?” Steve frowned, and to his credit managed to look uncomfortable. Though whether it was to prying into Nat’s history or because Barnes’ shot her was debatable.

“She never reported the Winter Soldier at Odessa. She reported a sniper.”

“And that was it?”

“No reason to question it, the hole through her abdomen and the splattered brains of the engineer were pretty self explanatory.” Yes, Captain, please remember it was your friend who shot her. She owed no one any other explanation. “And the Winter Soldier was a myth. No one would have believed her anyway.”

Steve went silent for a long moment, his frown contemplative. Finally, he said, “Or they might have, and Hydra would have done something to her.”

“Probably,” Clint said with a shrug. “Woulda. Shoulda. Coulda. We can only work with the facts we have. Fact, a sniper shot out her tires, and then shot her asset through her. The engineer died. Nat nearly did. Your friend went back to his handlers.”

A flinch at the word _friend_. Clint let it go, he didn’t need to be petty, but if Rogers kept digging into Nat, then Barnes would become fair game.

“Fair,” he finally conceded. “Nat’s file isn’t out there anymore. At least nowhere I could find it, and Shuri did a dive and said she couldn’t locate it either. She thought she had a copy, but it’s gone from her systems as well.”

With a half laugh, Clint grinned for the first time in weeks. “Did Nat ever mention she was a skilled hacker?” It wasn’t a skill she bragged about, but one she definitely used.

“No,” Cap answered. “She didn’t, but I knew she was good with computers. You think she wiped her own file out after releasing it?”

“Maybe. The world is hunting her, why should she help them anymore than she already has? Saving the world isn’t what it used to be.”

“No it’s not.” A rusty laugh broke free from Cap and he shook his head. “Sam’s going to head back to the States and I think Scott might go with him.”

“Might be going into the lion’s den…”

“T’Challa said he can help them both, but once they’re there.” He didn’t have to say anymore. The newly minted king had gone over and above for all of them.

“You’re not going with them?” Suspicion niggled at Clint, but he waited. Patience was a good skill to use.

“Nope,” Steve answered. “I’m going to look for Nat.”

There it is. “And you want me to go with you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want you to help, yeah. I figure you know her better than anyone…” He let it trail off, either trying to appeal to Clint’s ego or maybe because he truly believed that.

“Are you going to look for her for her or for Barnes?” If his answer was the latter, well, Clint would refuse plain and simple.

“I’m not going to lie…it’s probably for both, but more because I’m worried about her. T’Challa says Bucky can be in that chamber for months, they have no time table because they have to figure out everything that was done…”

“…and there may be more data out there somewhere, and Nat is most likely the one who can find it.” So yeah, Rogers needed her for Barnes no matter how he wanted to frame it.

“She found his file in the first place.”

Clint would place bets Nat had the file already. She’d probably compiled it on her own in an attempt to answer the lingering questions left by Odessa.

“And if she doesn’t want to pull on that thread again?”

Steve met his gaze. “You’re protecting her. I get it. I’m not going to make her do anything. I do _care_ about Tasha. I’m worried about her. She’s out there alone because she helped me. I think it’s about damn time I helped her.”

While Clint didn’t have Nat’s ability to read people, everything in Rogers’ tone, his expression, and his words declared his sincerity. “Then let’s get packed and go find her.”


	4. Fallaces sunt rerum species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark has a lot on his plate at the moment, but only one obsession which isn't letting him sleep or concentrate on anything else. He's determined to find the answers to his questions.
> 
> Starting with the Red Room.

Chapter Four

_Fallaces sunt rerum species_

 Tony

 

 _The appearances of things are deceptive._ The translation of the admonishment Natasha—Natalie—Nat used when he’d visited Stark Industries while she was still there. He’d challenged her ability to even speak it based on her crazy resume, and she’d fired off a phrase at him. Only she’d told him it mean go home or she’d have him collected.

Appearances were deceiving. Oh, yes they were. He’d left the compound and returned to the tower. Rhodey’s physical rehabilitation remained apace. Tony had reached out to Helen Cho and she would be visiting soon to see if she could add to Rhodey’s treatment. The damage to his spine might very well be permanent, but Tony refused to give up on the chance to do everything possible to improve Rhodey’s experience.

“Boss, Mr. Parker is here to see you.” Friday flicked a security screen on to show Peter in the lobby of the tower. SI security had him signing in, and they’d likely notified Friday if she hadn’t already been aware.

“Send the kid up.” Tony straightened, and closed down the three screens he’d been working on researching. Two had schematics, one for upgrades to his suit, he had to remove the arc reactor weakness and the other he couldn’t stop tinkering with when the research on his third screen frustrated him. It had been a week since he’d sent Friday to pulling every scrap of information she could on the Red Room, and what they’d amassed was pitifully small. “Secure all research.”

New protocols would erase everything. Friday backed up key data to a satellite, only accessible under the most strenuous of circumstances and only with Tony’s full cooperation. His girl knew all his stress markers.

Leaving the lab, he climbed the stairs to the penthouse. This lab wasn’t accessible to anyone else. The room darkened and the doors sealed as he slid through an access point in the closet of his bedroom, and then that sealed behind him.

There were multiple labs in the Avengers—well, Stark Tower again, he supposed—but those were for collaborative work. Bruce had the run of one, and Tony used the other. On lower floors, he had an entire R&D division. Or he had. Since Ultron, he’d gradually moved them out to other locations. For the time being, the tower was home to Tony, Friday, and the scatter of security on the first level. Vision and Rhodey remained at the compound, the former moping (it was the best word to describe it) and the latter concentrating on getting as much mobility as he could out of the prosthetic supports Tony built.

The elevator dinged just as Tony poured himself a drink. It wasn’t much, and he dropped two ice cubes into it to water it down. It was more for appearances than medicinal purposes. He opened a can of soda and left it on the bartop as Peter strode in.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” the teenager greeted him. Despite the livid bruises he’d sported following the airport battle, Peter looked back to normal. “Sorry to bother you, but I got your message about bringing the suit.” He had a backpack over his shoulder, but he didn’t pull it off immediately. “You’re not taking the suit back are you?”

Tony chuckled and nudged the soda toward the kid before he took a sip of his drink. “Not my plan, no. I wanted to do some upgrades, the reports indicated you’ve been having some visual display glitches.”

“Yeah, um…it seemed to be okay. Maybe a little…glitch you know, here or there.” Wow the kid was a terrible liar.

Almost as bad as Rogers. Tony tabled that thought. Rogers, it seemed, had actually been a good liar and he didn’t want to add fuel to his already frustrated mood.

“Yeah well, just leave the suit here and take the night off. You’ve got to be drilling down for the academic decathlon, right? I need a couple of days, I’ll upgrade the visual interface and run a debugger. You can pick the suit up day after tomorrow.” No way the kid wanted to lose the suit for that long, and his crestfallen expression only seemed to reaffirm it.

“But Mr. Stark…”

“Leave the suit, kid. You go out there with glitchy tech, that’s on me.” And if the kid pushed too hard, Tony would take the suit permanently. He was still a kid, a good one, and he’d made the suit to protect him—hence the Training Wheels protocol—but the reports Friday had collated on the suit’s interactions suggested Peter might have been pushing the limits of the protocol. Better safe than sorry.

With a sigh, Peter dragged off his backpack and pulled the suit out. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything Mr. Stark…”

“…it’s just that you want me to drop everything and fix it now so you can take it with you.” Tony finished the statement for him, and had to really concentrate not to laugh at the way hope flared in Peter’s expression.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble and even if it is, I mean I can work around the interface until you have time…but you know if stuff happened and I didn’t have the suit, and couldn’t help, then that’s on me, right?”

With a shake of his head, Tony pointed to the elevator. “Let’s go to the lab. I’ll run some diagnostics. If it’s an easy fix, you’re on your way.”

“Yay!” Peter bounded alongside him. Damn the kid had too much energy.

“But if not…” Tony didn’t have to finish the sentence. The kid nodded energetically.

“And could you show me how to do it? I mean then I can do it when you’re too busy and maybe save you some time?” Earnest, puppy dog eyes aside, Peter was something else.

“Sure kid, we can call this a lesson.” And he’d leave a secondary program in play to trigger if the kid suddenly started messing with the protocols. In all honesty, Tony would be the first one bending the rules, and Peter was just so damn eager.

“Great!” The teen’s enthusiasm bubbled over once they arrived in the lab, Tony hadn’t been in this one in a while, but everything was where he left it.

Clapping his hands, Tony announced, “Daddy’s home, let’s get to work.” The monitors flared to life along and the equipment around them hummed. A sense of deep satisfaction spread through his gut. Sometimes, the work was enough to make up for the loss.

Sometimes.

Four hours and three pizzas later, Tony sent Peter home with Happy. Flushed with excitement and in possession of his suit, Peter promised he’d call if anything came up, and he’d stay in touch with Happy, and was there anything else he could do for Mr. Stark?

Good kid. Exhausting kid, but good one.

He was back in the penthouse and debating setting up a smaller lab for Peter to use whenever he wanted. It would allow Friday to monitor him, and give him a safe space to work out of. Still mulling it over, he ignored the bar to head toward the bedroom. Maybe he could sleep tonight. Working on the suit, answering Peter’s questions, and coasting along with his excitement had alleviated some of his tension.

When was the last time he’d slept? Tony peered at his watch and frowned. The day before? Maybe the day before that? Before he could verify with Friday, she said, “Boss, we have a match.”

Altering course, he strode toward his private lab, using fingerprint, retinal, and voice markers to unlock the door before hurrying inside. It secured behind him. The work in here couldn’t be monitored, the servers were all secure, and any net access bounced through three hundred different proxies all around the world.

“Talk to me baby girl, what did you find?”

Screens flickered to life, a grainy black and white image filled one, while another featured a similarly angled shot only in color. In the first one, I could make out a woman’s profile. The thick tumble of curls reminded me of Nat’s when she’d worked for SI as Natalie, but the image looked a few decades old and the clothing…it had to be vintage. The second one was a more direct shot, and her hair was shorter, styled into a bob and the mini dress and boots looked more retro sixties than anything else.

“What am I looking at here, Friday?”

“First image is from the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki.” Okay so maybe Nat’s mother. She was damn close enough to be her twin. “The team rosters for the USSR doesn’t list anyone with the initials N.R., and no one who competed for the USSR resembled the woman in the photo.”

“Okay,” Tony drew out the pair of syllables, trusting his baby girl to get to the point.

“The man to the woman’s left is a ninety-six percent match for Ivan Petrovitch.” The name didn’t mean anything to Tony. “Ivan Petrovitch served the USSR from 1932 until his death in 1991.”

Fifty nine years was a long time for service. “Okay, what did Mr. Scumbucket here do for the USSR?” He studied the man’s features. He had a hollow look to him, more like a corpse brought back to life. The lights were on, but the soul wasn’t there. The empty-eyed look creeped him the fuck out.

“Mixed reports from Russian intelligence translates to a number of different assignments, all within covert ops under Stalin with the key words Red Room highlighted in four separate reports over a number of decades.”

Red Room.

“Okay, we’re getting closer. Any information on the woman with him?” 1952 and the woman looked young, maybe twenty or so. So maybe Nat’s grandmother. God the resemblance was uncanny.

“No, Boss. In fact, based on every record I can access, this woman wasn’t there. The 52 Olympics were heavily documented with photographs, this is the only picture I can find. No listings for her on the USSR teams as either an athlete or support staff. But facial recognition is an 82% match for Agent Romanoff. Unable to do a full match because of the degraded quality of the image.”

“Makes sense. And what’s behind door number two here?” Weeks of deep diving the Internet and hacking foreign agencies, and what Tony had learned about the Red Room could fill a thimble. Just before the Battle of New York, Tony and JARVIS hacked SHIELD’s files. He’d gotten a lot of info, and he’d used those files to compare to what Natasha had dumped on the Internet, he’d gotten more surface files. She’d dumped deeper ones.

Three mentions of the Red Room were in the files she’d dumped, but only one in the files he’d pulled except for one mention about a highly classified, spec ops training facility located somewhere in Siberia perhaps code-named Red Room.

All mentions were linked specifically to Natasha Romanoff.

“Paris, 1964 on the Rue de Mer. Image is a 98% match to Agent Romanoff.” Okay so maybe this was her mother, though the women in each photograph looked to be the same age.

“Red Room affiliation?”

“Suspected assassination of a Soviet asset to the west with reported ties to the Red Room. Yuri Androvich was a high level functionary at the Soviet embassy. He turned up at a French Intelligence Bureau and later the American Embassy seeking asylum. During an interview, he admitted to having key details to a project labeled the Red Room, and would disclose all details once he’d secured passage to the U.S. and safety.”

“And he didn’t get either because he was assassinated.” It wasn’t a question. The fact the man died lent a great deal of weight to whatever story he’d been unable to tell. “Method of assassination?”

“Undetermined, Boss.” If it were possible for Friday to sound peeved, she managed it. “Androvich was in a secure room, deep inside the embassy. Records showed no entrances or exits. No one on cameras. No unidentified persons admitted to the embassy after his arrival. Security found him dead when they brought him a meal.”

Friday displayed a few photos of the man taken after the discovery. He slumped over a table, and looked more like he was asleep than dead.

“Any chance the photos were forged to hide him?” Fake his death, and fake out the would be assassins.

“I don’t have the information to confirm or deny that assertion, Boss.” His imagination supplied her sigh.

“The Nat clone…how soon after the assassination was that picture taken?”

“The same day, Boss.”

“Rue de Mer, you said?” She huffed an affirmative, and Tony tapped his fingers against the desk. Curiosity washed away his earlier exhaustion. “Any chance she could have crossed paths with the Androvich?”

“That’s the issue Boss, I’m trying to backtrack through historical records, and there’s a distinct lack of video footage, but…” Images began to populate the screen. Heavy crowds. Some kind of party or parade—maybe a protest. Friday highlighted several areas but the images were too indistinct and increasing magnification only helped so much. “I believe these are all the woman with the 98% match to Agent Romanoff. This protest…” Okay it was a protest. “Took place the same day Androvich was moved to the U.S. Embassy. Records are spotty, but piecing together redacted files suggest they used the protest as cover to move him on foot, and get him to the embassy without drawing attention.”

Appearances can be deceiving. Hiding in plain sight.

“So she could have gotten to him in the crowd.”

“Yes.” Then Friday added, “But this is all subjective speculation, Boss. The assassination has remained unsolved. Soviet resources in the era were notorious for not allowing defectors to survive. Even those who made it into the States were often taken out.”

“So…we have an image that looks like Nat with a man reported to have ties to the Red Room in 1952. We have another image that looks like Nat linked to a same time and place as an assassination of a Soviet with ties to the Red Room.”

“Affirmative.”

Tony leaned back in the chair and studied the screens. Natasha was definitely younger than he was and he hadn’t been born when either of these incidences took place. He’d asked her if double-crossing was in her DNA, maybe it was… except…

“Friday, pull copies of all medical records we have for Agent Romanoff. Everything, blood work, health physicals, injury reports. Put that up on the screen for me.” They had isolated all of Natasha’s files and swept the web. Friday had spiders—heh, spiders—running to snag any other files on her that popped up in case someone else tried to upload them. A second screen began to detail what he asked for. “Then begin another search key words Sao Paulo, Drakov’s daughter, and hospital fire.”

“On it.”

“Okay, third search…”

“Boss, facial recognition identified Wanda Maximoff.”

Tony straightened. “Where?”

“Sokovia.”

She’d gone home.

“Is she on anyone else’s radar yet?”

“Not yet, you had me filtering data. It will transmit to the committee in two minutes.”

“Belay that order, wipe out the records.” Wanda had gone home. If he didn’t believe Ross wouldn’t toss her right back on the Raft and that was if he didn’t try to put a bullet in her head, Tony might think about it. But no, he’d kept her at the compound to try and avoid incarceration, he’d had a lot of problems to juggle and getting her cleared and protected needed more time with the Accords being signed. “Keep running the scans, and if they pop up, keep a record for us and the purge them. Don’t let anything go to the committee.”

It violated the Accords, but what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt his team.

His chest tightened. Maybe not his anymore, but whatever… He waved an arm as if dismissing the conversation and returning to his work.

“Understood.”

Blowing out a breath, Tony pinched the bridge of his nose before rising and crossing to the coffee pot. He had a lot of reading to do. “Third search… cross reference any property purchases under any alias of Natasha Romanoff, identify key features or assets, then compare. Look for patterns.”

“Then use the patterns to search for new property purchases over what time period?” Friday got him, she really did. If he weren’t so fucking tired, he’d beam.

“Since the fall of SHIELD. She’d have had to make new covers, and build herself a better bolt hole.”

“That could take some time, Boss.”

A hell of a lot of time. Coffee in his cup, he walked back over to start reviewing Nat’s medical records. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five, maybe twenty-six. He’d give her thirty, but a damn good one.

Then again Rogers didn’t look like a man in his 90s either and he’d spent decades in the ice. Like New York, he’d seen, but he’d been working on believing. Red Room. Soviet secret intelligence. Erskine had been German. He’d defected and brought his formula to the U.S.

Fuck.

“Friday, fourth search, Abraham Erskine, everywhere he went before he came to the United States and a list of any known contacts.”

“Working on it.” Bless her, she didn’t snap at him for burning through her processes.

He was on his third cup of coffee by the time a pattern in Natasha’s medical reports snuck up on him. Despite years of service to SHIELD and numerous missions—most of which fell into the highly classified and for your eyes only categories—her mission reports and medical status rarely varied. Contusions. Scrapes. The occasional knife wound. Almost none needed stitches or required overnight hospital stays. In fact, numerous complaints had been lodged by the medical personnel about her lack of cooperation and habit of disappearing during treatment.

If he went by straight accounts, she had a miraculous recovery time and even more miraculous ability to walk through fire unscathed. Law of averages said everyone got injured. But if Tony read all of this right, and he knew he was, he’d sustained far more injuries than she had in a far shorter amount of time.

Nat didn’t wear armor. That cat suit of hers was exceptionally functional and formfitting, but it wouldn’t prevent her from getting battered or bruised and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop a…

“Fuck. Friday, medical report for Natasha Romanoff post Battle of New York, what were the primary injuries listed?”

“Accessing report, Boss. The file lists only superficial scrapes, and a small laceration near the scalp, too shallow to require stitches.”

“No contusions? At all?” Tony had seen the tapes. Hulk had backhanded her into a wall. Even a love tap would have left a mark, and the guy hadn’t been gentle. If Thor hadn’t arrived when he did, they’d have been scraping a smear of Romanoff off the deck.

“None listed Boss.”

His blood ran cold. Impossible healing abilities coupled with almost superhuman reflexes, and a shady origin story? “What have you got on the Erskine search?”

“Abraham Erskine, born in Augsburg, Germany on September 14, 1869. His work in the study of genetics earned acclaim during the turn of the century up through the first World War. Dr. Erskine fell out of favor with the new German government during reparations and records indicate he may have emigrated from Germany for a time. The next detailed records of him coincide during the rise of Adolf Hitler. Erkine’s work in developing a serum to enhance human strength and abilities brought him the notice of the Nazi party. When he refused to cooperate, he tried to flee the country with his family in 1935. He was unsuccessful. Johann Schmidt, the head of the SS research division also known as Hydra, captured Erskine and forced him to finish the formula.”

Probably used his family as leverage. The names changed, but the story didn’t.

“Records indicate Schmidt forced Erskine to turn over the formula, but the doctor later detailed it was a very early version. It did give Schmidt superior strength, but also demonstrated significant side effects including a loss of hair, red pigmentation to his skin, and the deformity of his skull. Schmidt signed a death warrant for Erskine, but Agent Peggy Carter managed to smuggle Doctor Erskine out of Germany the night before his execution. Details of the operation remain highly classified and are not documented in any online file.”

So Aunt Peggy got Erskine out. That was a twist on the story, he’d never heard anyone refer to her involvement beyond the initial training and assistance to Rogers after his transformation.

“After facilitating his escape, Agent Carter joined Dr. Erskine in his work for the Strategic Scientific Reserve where he perfected his formula. The only successful test subject was Captain Steve Rogers. Dr. Erskine was assassinated only minutes after the test was complete, and he left no notes or work to be reconstructed. The last known sample of his work was also destroyed.”

Fingers interlaced behind his head, Tony leaned back in the chair.

“When Erskine disappeared from Germany after World War I, where do the records suggest he emigrated?”

“Leningrad, Russia formerly St. Petersburg at the time part of the USSR.”

Russia.

Erskine had been obsessed with his work. After the first World War, Germany had been in ruins. The Bolshevik revolution overturned Imperial Russia…it had been an insane time.

“Deep dive Friday, see if you can find any scrap of Erskine’s time in Russia.”

“I’ll try Boss, records from the Soviet Bloc are even sketchier than ours dating back to that time. A lot will likely be hard copies if they exist at all.”

“Understood, cross reference Erskine with Androvich and Petrovich, we know they had Red Room ties…”

“Working. Boss, you have a call from a blocked number and it keeps re-routing even when I try to decline it.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Tony sighed. It was almost four in the morning. No one called at this hour with good news. “Put them through and run a trace, see if you can lock down where they are calling from and get ready to cut the call if needed.”

A beat of silence followed by, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Stark?”

“Not getting my beauty sleep or I wouldn’t be talking to you, former director of the agency formerly known as SHIELD.” Deep diving into Nat’s background and Nick Fury just happens to call?

Yeah, Stark believed in that coincidence as much as he believed in Santa Claus.

“You’ve got missing Avengers, governments run amuck, Accords which are trying to hamstring a group of specialized individuals who need to be able to fight the fights the rest of us can’t, and you’re doing what exactly?”

“Well at the moment, I thought I’d make coffee and since the little shop around the corner is making the best donuts known to man right about now, I’ll probably head over there to get some. Would you like yours with sprinkles?”

“I’m not playing with you Stark, your house is a mess…”

“Yeah, about that. See, I don’t work for you. And a lot of the messes I’ve been cleaning up for the last few years started with you. So if you have something to say that’s helpful, I’m all ears. If you just called to bitch about the rest of it, go find Rogers.” Yeah, it was petty, but Tony was tired.

There was a long silence. Then, “Where is Romanoff?”

He refused to admit his heart squeezed at the question. “I don’t know, Nick. Why don’t you tell me?”

Another protracted silence. “If she’s not with you, why are you researching the Red Room?” The trace Friday was running kept bouncing all over the world.

“Is that like Black and White? Or more like Romper Room?” He hadn’t lied, he poured himself another cup of coffee before starting a fresh pot.

“Stark…”

“Hey Nick, you’re breaking up. All I’m hearing is a lot of static and noise. If you’ve got something helpful, email me.” He made a cutting motion and the call ended. The trace had gone nowhere.

Fury was in the wind. He’d show up when he damn well felt like dropping an information bomb. Until then, Tony had work to do.

“Boss, news reports from London.”

“Put it on display.”

The BBC network flashed on the screen, a ticker scrolling indicated a political scandal with world wide implications including the assassination of several well known figures as well as blackmail of current world leaders. What the hell?

“Turn up the volume, Friday.”

_“Good morning, we’re interrupting today’s scheduled programming for a special announcement. Forty-five minutes ago, agents from multiple organizations including Interpol, MI-6, Scotland Yard, the French Foreign office, and the US’s Federal Bureau of Investigations converged on a warehouse in East London.” The image on the screen switched from the newscaster to show a shot of the warehouse swarming with multiple agencies and vehicles with flashing lights. There were also at least two large armored vehicles for prisoner transport. “According to sources close to the investigation, authorities were notified anonymously of weapons smuggling including biological weapons. When forces raided the warehouse, a number of subjects were found bound, and chained awaiting arrest. Amidst the weapons—including a cache of Stark Industries weapons all banned more than a decade ago and thought destroyed, arrayed down to their component parts and utterly disarmed—were numerous files and tapes on several highly placed officials in multiple governments including former Prime Minister James, former Minister Ogden, French Ambassador DeMarques, German Finance Minster Goring, and Secretary of State Ross. While the details are being kept quiet at this time, copies of these files have been delivered to a number of news outlets including the BBC and are being thoroughly vetted…if you are just joining us…authorities have converged on a warehouse in East London…”_

“Mute.”

Ross. Blackmail files. Weapons smuggling. Someone had taken time to gift wrap a scandal which would own the next dozen news cycles as well as discredit a large number of the loudest voices supporting the Accords.

_Hello Natasha, so that’s where you’ve been._

He didn’t have any proof, but this kind of thing—it was too neatly wrapped. It had Nat’s name all over it. “Friday, get my jet ready.”

“Going to London, Boss?”

“That’s the plan. Notify Pepper and have the lawyers file an injunction, I want every piece of Stark Tech they found.”

“Got it.”

Appearances could be deceiving, but then again so could Natasha. He might be making more of the event than there was to it, but he didn’t think so. Discrediting Ross would help all of them, himself included, because the man was drunk on his power play and taking him off the board could serve everyone’s agenda.

Tony stood, his back cracking. “Secure files.”

The room went dark as he headed out.

It was time to go to work. It was time to find Nat.

 


	5. You Might Be in the Wrong Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clint set out on their hunt for Nat. First stop, London. And they're not the only Avengers in town.

Chapter Five

_You Might be in the Wrong Business_

 

Steve

 

 

Leaving Wakanda behind was both easier and harder than Steve wanted to admit. The need to locate Nat drove him every bit as much as the need to be there with Bucky anchored him. Yet, once he’d made the decision some of the lead weights on his soul released.

The decision galvanized Barton. Sam and Scott were still making arrangements when Clint announced he’d secured transport for them and they needed to leave right away. The rush probably helped Steve not to think too hard about what he was leaving behind and though Clint advised against it, he’d brought Bucky’s journals with him.

Steve needed to take some part of his friend with him. In the rush to pack and then later to take possession of a stealth capable quinjet—Steve wasn’t entirely sure how Clint pulled it off—he didn’t pay much attention to their destination until they’d landed some distance outside the city.

“Why are we in London again?” Had it really only been a few weeks since his last visit to the city? Not wanting to think about Peggy right now, he shoved the nascent grief aside. He’d been grieving for Peggy since he woke from the ice, burying her had just been another facet of it.

“Check the news,” Clint told him, as he stood. “The jet will remain in stealth mode, and the farmer who owns this property is an old friend of Fury’s…and no don’t ask, I don’t know the whole story and I don’t want to know. Anyway, he keeps this field empty for just such occasions.”

The archer moved as he spoke, changing into a different shirt—one more suited to a tourist, and throwing on an open, short-sleeved button down over it. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and he’d advised Steve to stop shaving as well, but neither of them were really sporting beards yet.

“Get changed, then I’ll work on your face. I’m pretty sure we’ve got some photostatic veils at our safe house in the city, but until then, we need to fool facial recognition.” The man never stopped moving, checking his go bag, then opening a locker and pulling out clay, putty, and cosmetics. “It’s old school, but it works. And like I said, we just need to get into town and London probably has more CCTV coverage per square foot than any other city I’ve been in.”

“Tell me again why we’re _here_ then?” For some reason, he’d imagined a more exotic locale—maybe Morocco or somewhere in the Far East. Somewhere Nat could disappear.

Tapping his knuckles against the screen playing the BBC news, Clint shook his head. “Watch the news, I meant it literally.”

_Multiple agencies converge on warehouse in East London. Highly classified weapons, and dangerous materials identified._

Steve hit the volume to turn it up.

“… _when forces raided the warehouse, a number of subjects were found bound, and chained awaiting arrest. Amidst the weapons—including a cache of Stark Industries weapons all banned more than a decade ago and thought destroyed, arrayed down to their component parts and utterly disarmed—were numerous files and tapes on several highly placed officials in multiple governments including former Prime Minister James, former Minister Ogden, French Ambassador DeMarques, German Finance Minster Goring, and Secretary of State Ross. While the details are being kept quiet at this time, copies of these files have been delivered to a number of news outlets including the BBC and are being thoroughly vetted…if you are just joining us…authorities have converged on a warehouse in East London…while the government has asked to review all files prior to their release, some news agencies in the United States have already begun to publish the contents…”_

“When did this break?” All at once it felt like coming up for air after a deep dive or how sound flickered in after a detonation left him deaf and numb. He sucked in a deep breath. The images detailed the sheer scope of the operation, and based on the quick shots to the dignitaries listed in the report, most of them hurrying _away_ from the press, it hadn’t been favorable to them.

“In the middle of the night, I was doing some scans, and it came across one of the feeds.”

“And you decided London.” Because taking down such a complicated operation…

“Looks like Nat. Smells like Nat.” Clint checked a small handgun before securing it. “Then it’s like Nat.”

Steve frown. The man didn’t usually favor guns, at least not when they’d worked together.

“Bow and arrow are a dead giveaway. You dressed yet?” Practical and impatient in the same breath, the archer motivated him to move his ass.

Steve pulled out gray t-shirt, and switched out the long sleeved navy one he’d been wearing when they left Wakanda. The jeans were fine. The combat boots looked as scuffed as any he’d seen folks wearing for style more than substance. Like Clint, he chose a button down to wear over his shirt, but he buttoned his and started to tuck it in when the other man stopped him.

“Half in, and half out. Lose the boots. Put on some loafers. We’re going hipster with you. Even with your size, if you can slouch a little and stick with unkempt, the glasses and face putty will do the rest.”

The brief thought of arguing flitted through his mind, then Steve let it go. “When on the run, walk, don’t run,” he said instead. “In this case, look noticeable for all the reasons I usually wouldn’t.”

“We might make a covert operative out of you yet,” Clint said, though his tone decried it. He waited until Steve had changed his shoes and sat before getting to work on however he planned to change Steve’s face. “We might color your hair. That’s more Nat’s thing than mine, but we may have to do it. We’ll see how much you stand out once we’re done here.”

“You have hair dye on this thing?” Just how long had he been planning his exodus to have everything on hand at a moment’s notice?

“It’s always good to have a backup plan for your backup plan.” A definite noncommittal answer, and one the archer didn’t add any more explanation to as he patted, secured, added, then spread.

Focusing past Clint, Steve stared at the screen. The sound was off but the ticker noted the various headlines and they were all related to the warehouse raid, the number of agencies involved, as well as some of the weapons discovered during the raid. “You know, a place that sized and with that many people, they had more in there than weapons.”

“Might have been a fully operational Hydra cell,” Clint murmured, his focus on his work. The stuff was cold and felt odd, it made his face heavy. Hopefully it would work. “Or whoever is taking their place. There’s always another terrorist.”

“That’s sad,” Steve said with a long sigh. “When we were fighting Hitler and Hydra during the war, we all dreamed of the day it would be over. We knew we had to win…”

“Didn’t know what you had to lose though.” The words were quiet as the other man leaned back to examine his work. “That should hold. You’re going to wear one of the ball caps and throw on a hoodie over the shirt, and maybe a pair of colored sunglasses.” Then he was putting away the materials.

“No, I don’t think we ever thought about that. We knew there would be losses…Colonel Phillips had to write a lot of letters. I’d hear him sometimes, he and Peggy going over the lists. If we’d gone up against their Tesseract weapons, we didn’t always have bodies to send home. They’d just be…gone.”

The weight of those memories added to the slump of his shoulders. “I don’t know how you did it after SHIELD,” Steve said as he dragged out a hoodie and followed the advice. He didn’t even bother to look in the mirror, sometimes all he ever saw there was a stranger anyway.

“Did what?”

“Just…went back to your life, joined us, did your thing. It seemed to roll off you.”

“Did it?” A faint smile curved the other man’s lips, but it never reached his eyes.

Crap. Steve was a decent judge of character, but he wasn’t always good at reading people. Especially not people who embraced deception as a way of life. “Or maybe I’m just assuming.”

“Maybe…or maybe I’m the guy whose never had all that much, and I’m used to rebuilding or making the most out of what I have when I have it.” Those words…

Steve paused and pivoted to face him. “Nat said that.” When the other man didn’t answer, he added, “The last time I was in London…for Peggy’s funeral. Nat came.” Sam saw her, but he hadn’t asked and Steve hadn’t offered. Sharon had asked, but Steve just shrugged it off.

“She didn’t want you to be alone.” The man knew her well.

“She said that, too. But…did she tell you where she went after SHIELD fell? When she was building her new covers?”

“Some.” Again with a shrug, and he was protecting Nat and not answering any questions. At least not direct ones.

“Well maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but I trust you where she’s concerned.” More than Steve trusted himself at the moment, especially after everything that happened. “When she came, she told me she’d gone back to Russia…”

Clint’s eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw ticked. No, Steve didn’t particularly care for the idea of her in Russia either and he only had a sliver of the data about her life there.

“…she went to look for her parents.”

“She found them.” Flat, no emotion, and almost impersonal.

“Yeah, a couple of headstones behind some wire fence. She said she cleared the weeds and left some flowers and that we have what we have when we have it.” He could damn near hear her husky voice as she told him, and despite her calm façade, there had been genuine pain in her eyes—fleeting, but there.

Wrapped in his own grief, he’d almost missed it.

Blowing out a breath, Clint shook his head. “Nat’s not a big believer on leaning into the past or the future. She lives in the now. We can’t change the past and we can only deal with the future when it gets here, so we affect today and make the most of it.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, accepting the olive branch in the form of information. Barton didn’t owe him a damn thing, and he didn’t doubt the other man’s loyalty to Nat.

“Grab your gear. Remember, keep your shoulders rounded and walk like you’re not in a hurry. If we have to split up for any reason, head to the Royal Horseguards in Whitehall, it’s a hotel.” He nodded to his go bag. “You’ve got ID in there that will pass as you, the change just makes you look like you’ve gained a little weight. Tell them you’re there to see Sir Reginald, and they’ll direct you to a room. Wait there until I find you.”

Confident, and as much as he wanted to ask questions, he left it alone. “Got it.”

With that, they left the cloaked quinjet and crossed the empty field shrouded from view by the trees lining the property. At the edge, they found a small car parked in the trees, keys in a magnetic box under the tire well.

Definitely not asking, Steve slid into the passenger seat and let Barton handle the drive. Fifteen minutes later, they were following a wave of traffic into London. Nearly an hour later, Clint parked on a side street, and they locked the vehicle and left it. Even with their bags, they looked like a couple of guys getting back from a trip. Clint strayed into a coffee shop and grabbed them a couple while Steve waited outside, leaning against the wall with their bags.

Coffee in hand, they made their down a quiet street and then into a cobbled courtyard of a large almost half-circular brick building. After keying in a code, Clint opened the door and they passed a suited gentleman sitting behind a desk.

“Mr. Regan, welcome back. Hope you had a good trip.” The man said by way of greeting, his accent adding just a hint of edge to the words.

“Good to be back, Henry. How’s Glenda? The boys?”

“All good, Mac’s up north, got himself into a good league. We’re going to see him play this weekend in Manchester if you can get away.”

“Have to check with the wife…” Clint grinned, he was so easy going about it. Just falling into a character.

“Well we’d love to see you if you can.” The man’s smile eased his expression, and he nodded to Steve pleasantly enough. Steve tried to return the nod with the same ease, but he didn’t know the whole dynamic so letting Clint talk seemed to be the safest bet.

With a tip of his coffee cup, Clint led the way over to the lift. Inside, he had to key in another code to take them to the top floor. Then down a hall decorated with some tasteful paintings to a door at the end, on the opposite side was a door for the stairwell, with no key code. Handing off his coffee to Steve, Clint paused and eyed the door. He studied it as if he were trying to recall something, before he entered a code into the pad next to the door. Locks disengaged and then they were inside.

Leaving his bag there, Clint strode through the place like he owned it. Maybe he did. It was a wide open floor plan, with big windows that looked out over the river. The walls were painted a cream color, and there were a few items here that gave it more of a staged apartment feel rather than a lived in one…except there was a dark green sweater lying over the back of the sofa, and the scent of Italian sauce in the air.

Dropping his bag next to Clint’s, Steve closed the door and pressed farther into the apartment. Clint exited one of the bedrooms and crossed into another. Steve made his way to the kitchen. It was a long galley style, and there were rinsed dishes in the sink, and a tray of muffins sitting prominently on the open space.

The fridge was fully stocked, including fresh bottles of milk, some prepared salads, yogurt, fruit, and there were ready-made meals in the freezer, the heat and serve kind.

“Clint…” Steve said as he left the kitchen, pausing at the sofa when he caught a note of Nat’s perfume on the sweater.

“She’s not here,” the other man answered, his voice tight as he exited the bathroom. There’s toiletries in her bathroom, and clothes still in the closet. But no knives under the mattress.

“She was though,” Steve agreed with him, and picked up the sweater. “Maybe she’s just stepped out?”

Frowning, Clint stared at the sweater, then toward the windows. He walked over to the center and dropped into a squat then breathed on the glass until it fogged and revealed a series of letters and numbers.

A code.

For the first time since he’d boarded the quinjet hope flared in Steve’s chest. Nat had been here and recently. She might still be in London. He couldn’t make out what the letters and numbers meant, but a word formed below as Clint kept fogging it up.

_Streatfeld._

Waiting for him to finish, Steve gripped the sweater and fought the urge to lift it to his nose. He’d almost forgotten her scent, or how much comfort he took at the lingering notes. The combination of lemon, sandalwood, and the faintest notes of gunpowder with a touch of mint…it could only be better if it included the rose perfume she favored from time to time or if the woman herself stood there instead of only leaving the memory of herself on the sweater.

“Dammit. She’s probably already on the go, but I’ll check the safe. She’s left new IDs, and burned the old ones.”

“She knew you’d come?” Once upon a time, he’d thought Clint and Natasha were in a relationship, and it was part of why he’d kept his distance. Or at least one of the reasons. After meeting Barton’s wife though, Steve had needed to revise what he knew. Now…now he couldn’t focus on it too much. He had to deal with what he had, while he had it.

Maybe Nat was right and he was in the wrong damn business.

“Or planned for the eventuality. This is _our_ safehouse. We’ve had this place for a few years, off the books and you’re now the third person to know about it outside of us. Streatfeld is a code phrase for new shoes, shoes—are false papers, new identities. We kept a cache at our safehouses, never knew when you were going to need them.”

“But she burned a lot of her covers.”

“Yeah, these were one and dones though, meant to be used when we had to hard extract or go dark. You use it, travel, then burn it and use the next one for the next leg…”

And these two thought like that without effort. Sometimes…no all the time, it made Steve a little angry that they _had_ to think in those terms no matter how helpful it might prove to him or all of them now.

“And the rest of the code?” If Barton wouldn’t tell him, then he wouldn’t tell him. The man could probably lie about what it meant and Steve wouldn’t know the difference. For now, he had to trust him. He was the guy at his back and he’d said he would help find Nat.

“It’s a list of safehouses still secure.”

So letters and numbers that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone not them. “Smart way to share the data.”

“Glad you think so, you may have to learn it if we end up splitting up. For now, go wash that stuff off and I’ll find the photostatic veil and calibrate it. Then we can head out to this warehouse and take a look around.”

“Is that smart? Won’t it be crawling with investigators?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, with an actual grin. “Like open house after church, what are two more suits in a situation like that?”

It took a couple of hours, and Steve leaving by way of the stairs with a code to exit through the ground floor where he met up with _Mr. Regan_ who could exit through the front door and past the guard. The photostatic veil tingled against his face, an almost subsonic hum that he was aware of but could tolerate. The absolute change in appearance would fool most facial recognition software and relaxed Steve’s vigilance a fraction, but only a fraction.

They made their way back to the car, and then crossed town to the warehouse. Clint and Nat had some nondescript windbreakers identifying them as Interpol, and another set that would work for FBI. They just needed to see who was on site.

They also had credentials. When Nat told him she needed to leave to build some new covers, he’d thought it was her way of letting him down gently about helping with Bucky. And even if he’d been disappointed at her absence, he’d _understood_ it. Why would she want to find someone who’d already shot her twice?

But he’d failed to see what she’d meant about building covers, it wasn’t just a name—it was a life, with fall back supplies like the veil, the identification, the weapons, and the cover materials. Barton said they had safehouses in other cities—though he hadn’t shared all the locations yet—those kinds of things took funds, time, and a lot of planning.

When Steve asked if they should wait for Nat in case she returned, Barton had only shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she moved on already, that was why she left the message. That’s why there are no weapons. If she did this job, once the heat was on, putting miles between her and it was the best plan.”

“But we’re following up, because?” Steve wanted to make sure they were on the same page.

“Something about this op got her interest, enough she took the time to make sure it tumbled into all the right hands. I don’t know what her play is, and I may not know until I get a better look at what’s going on.”

“Or we may be back to the drawing board and on to the next safehouse.” It wasn’t a question and Clint shrugged again. If he’d managed to contact Nat through one of their channels, he hadn’t said anything.

Not for the first time, Steve wished he had some secret back channel way of communicating with Nat. Then again, when he’d wanted to talk to her before he just texted her or called. More often than not, she dropped in on him. She kept the pulse of their contact alive.

All Steve had done was let her, and go along with it.

Disgust curled through him. When they caught up to her—and they would, he’d found Bucky, he would damn well find Nat—he would rectify these oversights. He’d make damn sure Nat knew what she meant to him, and that she understood she could call on him anytime, anywhere.

“Looks like Interpol is still on the scene. Green wallets.” Then they were out of the car, breakers on, and I.D. cards letting them on site. It was still a zoo, even if they’d been sorting through the site for the better part of a day. Even though the sun was setting, they’d brought in huge lights, and lit the whole scene up.

They were directed to the west side of the warehouse where other agents were cataloging the contents. Along one wall were chains with heavy manacled cuffs, all dangling—open or broken open. Dark stains marred the cement around them.

Voices converged from a dozen different directions, Steve’s sharper hearing allowing him to catch fragments of conversation.

“Human trafficking, a dozen girls from six different countries. According to what they told the translators, there were at least another three dozen here a week ago, they moved them out by shipping container and those remaining don’t know where they were going. Some of them were just kids.”

“I don’t even know why you’d need that much electricity to run through a chair, but it obviously had some scientific purpose…”

“…you mean besides torture? I’m glad whoever phoned this in poured acid through every join and computer interface. It’s utterly unsalvageable.”

“Stark’s here and he’s not walking away. He’s also got court orders, and an army of attorneys in three countries haranguing us.”

“…wasn’t his stuff turned into component parts?”

“There are files here dating back to World War II, complete dossiers on everyone from Churchill to some fields agents and foreign military ops. This could take years to catalog.”

“We’ve got an entire section here in Russian, I think. We’re going to need translators.”

“The Prime Minister wants a report, and is fending off intervention from the U.S. State Department now who wants to send in their own auditors.”

A nudge to his arm jerked Steve’s attention away from the swarming conversations to Clint. The archer beckoned with a curl of his fingers. “We’re over here. They need us to check the logs of all arrivals and departures. Whoever these guys were, they kept meticulous records.”

Unsure of whether that was the actual cover story or not, Steve just nodded. He followed Clint away from the other Interpol agents and said in a quiet voice, “Tony’s here.”

“What?” Clint jerked his head up and scanned the warehouse. They were tucked behind a series of stacks where the rows included all kinds of equipment and shipping crates. They reminded Steve of the type SHIELD used to house their Phase 2 weapons.

“The MI-6 guys over there were saying Stark is here with his attorneys.”

“Fuck,” Clint narrowed his eyes. “Fine, no one generally recognizes me, but he will. You keep an eye out and stay between me and him if he comes this way.”

With that, Clint went back to computer he’d commandeered. Sure enough, there were logs on the screen and he was scrolling through them. Arms folded, Steve took a stand at his shoulder as though he were reviewing the material along with him while he kept an eye on their surroundings.

“What are we looking for in that?” Steve kept his voice low, it didn’t matter no one was nearby. Tony could be using any number of electronic monitoring methods and the photostatic veil didn’t modify Steve’s voice.

“Patterns. Everything comes from somewhere. Backtrack to the source and…”

Maybe figure out where Nat went. She’d shut down this whole facility, but based on where it was and the sheer volume inside, it was likely a crossroads for multiple operations.

Steve glanced at the screen. The cities scrolling past were numerous, but he couldn’t spend the time reading every one and watch over their backs at the same time. Clint knew what he was looking for, and better, he knew Natasha.

“Would she have time to go through this before she got out of here?” For a minute Steve’s gaze tracked to the shackles on the wall. Human trafficking meant prisoners, and from what the others had been saying likely women and children. Had Nat gotten herself “caught” in order to play that game? She’d done it in the past.

He loathed that particular gambit, but she always shrugged it off because it was her _job_. Steve hated that part of her job. Especially since that part usually ended up with someone abusing her along the way and her letting them to get to what she wanted to know.

“If I know her, she copied all of this to go through at her leisure. Hell she’s probably curled up on some transport somewhere, a cup of tea in hand, and her tablet, reviewing it as if she were reading a fascinating novel.”

Sounded like a great idea. A better one if he and Clint were with her.

“I’ve got a couple of possibles here, one of which I really dislike.”

“Russia?” Steve hazarded a guess.

“You really have been paying attention. Volgograd shows up repeatedly, a handful beginning in Moscow, but there are way too many sent to Arkhangelsk.”

“Would she go there? Would she risk it?” Steve glanced at Clint, then grimaced at the other man’s raised eyebrows as if to say _it’s Nat._

Of course, she would.

“…we’re not going to be able to keep Stark out of here, and it’s just pulling more attention to the site. Let him and his people claim his stuff, just document it and get him out of here.”

“Stark’s on the move,” Steve said as Clint finished his scroll.

“Got it. Three more locations outside of Russia. We can talk about them later.” Then Clint was up and they were on the move. A part of Steve wanted to get into the crates, see what weapons or other items of destruction they had hidden in them. He wanted to talk to the victims of trafficking that had been rescued. He wanted to take the whole place a part then burn it to the ground…

But that wasn’t their job here. Even if he’d signed, the Accords would likely have kept all of them out, which meant Natasha wouldn’t have busted in or outed them.

_Of course, she’s on the run currently and still took the time to do this, so I don’t think the Accords would have stopped her anyway._

Yeah, he might be in the wrong business, but he recognized when a job needed to be done and so did she.

Outside, they circled the building to head back to the car and avoid the stampede of Stark and his people likely occurring somewhere inside the warehouse. They’d just reached the vehicle when a light cough pulled them both around.

“Good to see you there…Officer…well what do I call you?” Stark, dressed in a three piece suit with his hands in his pocket regarded Clint steadily. His gaze flicked to Steve, but the lack of recognition sent his attention back to Clint.

As it was, Steve’s stomach bottomed out. He hadn’t been this close to Tony since Siberia…since he’d chosen Buck over him and ended up shattering the arc reactor to get the fighting to stop.

His heart squeezed. No matter how much he and Stark disagreed, he did care about the man and Steve had fucked up royally where he was concerned. Not that he would blame Tony if he never wanted to hear his apologies or explanations again.

“Birmingham is fine,” Barton said, his tone even and his manner casual. “What can I do for you Mr…?”

Tony smirked. “Nice. You want to play it that way.”

Clint shrugged. “Not playing.”

Cordial. Calm. Even.

With a glance toward Steve, Tony studied him then looked at Clint. Tony wasn’t an idiot just because he didn’t recognize Steve didn’t mean he couldn’t put one and one together and come up with Steve Rogers. “Can we get a moment?” It took Steve a beat to realize Tony was talking to him.

“We really don’t need one,” Barton said smoothly. “You’ve got weapons to dispose of, and I’ve got a job to do.”

“Mr. Stark!” A voice called from the warehouse and Tony grimaced. He glanced over his shoulder then back at Clint.

“We need to talk.”

“And why do we need to talk?”

“Because there’s an itsy bitsy spider crawling up the water spout…”

“Mr. Stark!” The man hustled, he’d be there in a moment.

“Where?” Clint asked.

Tony rattled off an address in Hampstead, then added, “Give me an hour.”

Then he turned and strode toward the man approaching, “Herman…it was Herman, right? Just box it all up, and get the pallets on the truck. Tell all the grubby fingers inside they had plenty of time to photograph everything, but we take it all, every nut, bolt, and screw.”

Though Tony didn’t look back at them, Steve still held his breath.

“Let’s go,” Clint nudged him, and then they were in the car. They managed to exit the site without running into anyone else, and then he blew out a long breath. “I can drop you back at the flat, then go meet Tony. No need for both of us to walk into a trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Steve said quietly, and until Clint made the suggestion, he hadn’t been sure. But Tony had gone out of his way to catch up to Clint, recognized him from a distance and approached—even though it could have been dangerous. He wasn’t wearing a suit, or visibly armed.

“You can’t be so sure,” the archer said. “Tony can showboat, but he can also be damn crafty when he wants. It would have made a lot of noise to apprehend me there. But a private address in a ritzy part of north London? Not so much.”

“Tony grandstands, and he can be jovial when he threatens. He was neither of those things, and he mentioned Nat.”

The other man said nothing, then sighed. “Fine, we both go. But you need to hang back. He’s not going to talk to a stranger.”

“No,” Steve said slowly. “But he might talk to Steve Rogers.” Maybe.

But did he risk alienating Tony when he might have news about Nat?

“Well, what the hell,” Clint said, his laughter wry and sarcastic. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Steve had no answers. As far as he was concerned, the worst had already happened.

They’d shattered the Avengers.

And devastated his friends in the process.


	6. We're Still Friends Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint, Steve, and Tony come face to face and share some hard truths. Nat finally responds to Clint's messages.

Chapter Six

_We’re still friends, right?_

 

Clint

 

 

Meeting Tony-fucking-Stark at some posh address in Hampstead was a bad idea. Terrible one. A potentially epically bad idea. Yet, Clint followed the GPS instructions on the burner phone guiding them to a gated entrance which opened when they pulled in, and allowed him to head up the long drive. Secluded behind dense trees was a huge estate, and they were shrouded away from Greater London as if they’d stepped sideways into another world.

Following the circular drive in front of the house, he parked on the far side and then leaned back in the seat. The house lights were off, in fact everything was dark, and if not for the automatic gates opening and then closing behind them, he’d have wondered if anyone actually lived there.

Scattered leaves decorated the lawn, there was a fountain in the center that didn’t seem to have any running water, and the grass was a little high. Weeds choked around the fountain, too.

Steve had been dead silent since he’d suggested Tony would see him. As it was, Clint wasn’t sure he was getting out of this. Since Cap stared out into the gathering darkness and remained silent, Clint let himself out of the car and walked around to lean against the trunk.

He was still armed. A knife in his boot. Another tucked into a specially sewn pocket in his belt. Firearms were more difficult to come by in the U.K. and he preferred his bows most of the time. For now, he kept the small handgun holstered and tucked under his jacket.

They’d made it to the address in forty minutes. If Stark were on time, he’d be there in twenty. His gut said he should have forced the issue with Steve and dropped him at the safehouse. If this didn’t work out…

A hum of repulsors kicked up in the night sky, then a dark suit dropped into a landing a few feet away. It looked like the Iron Man armor, but without any of the fancy paint job or shiny additions. Only long practice kept Clint from reacting, and he maintained his relaxed façade.

“Going chrome like War Machine?” He said by way of greeting, then winced. Fuck. Bad choice of words. “Tony…”

The armor opened and Stark stepped out, and he raised a hand. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

Blowing out a breath, Clint said, “I won’t. Not intentionally trying to be an ass.”

“Yet succeeding admirably,” the billionaire retorted with a smirk. “We have that much in common.”

“How is he?” They hadn’t seen much of Rhodes in the news reports, but that didn’t mean anything.

“He’s paralyzed, and we’re working on something to keep him moving. That’s all I’m going to discuss with you on _that_ subject. Clear?” Too close, and too fresh. Some bruises were far below the surface.

“Clear.”

The two men stared at each other, the silence protracted. Tony squinted toward the car, then raised an eyebrow. “You brought company?”

“He wouldn’t let me drop him off.” If Steve wanted to announce himself, then he’d have to get out of the car. For now, Clint met Tony’s gaze evenly. “You wanted to _talk_ to me.”

“Yeah…let’s go inside, I’d rather not do this in the open.” He motioned to his suit. “Sentry, escort.” The suit turned to follow Tony as he lead the way to the house. Clint pushed off the car and followed him. He didn’t look back, but Steve left the vehicle as Tony and Clint climbed the steps to the wide porch. The door opened as Tony reached it and the lights inside turned on.

“Thank you Edwin,” Tony said as he stepped over the threshold. “We have two guests. Scan for weapons.”

“Of course, sir.” The distinctive cadence of the British voice reminded Clint of Jarvis. “Mr. Barton is armed, two knives, and one firearm—the firearm is illegal in the United Kingdom.”

Tony stopped in the foyer, a wide open tiled space between what looked like two formal sitting rooms and in front of a long, sweeping staircase. As homes went, it was very dated and not Tony’s style at all. The painting over the fireplace caught his eye and Clint hesitated a moment, then glanced at Tony. “If you need me to disarm. I’ll leave them in the car if you leave the suit outside.”

The billionaire’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Unnecessary.”

Then Steve entered, and the AI announced, “Unknown subject is wearing a facial prosthesis of some kind which hampers facial recognition.”

Of course his fucking toys spotted the photostatic veil.

“Based on energy readings, it is a Photostatic Veil, a late model used primarily by SHIELD.”

Steve didn’t help their case as he hesitated a step behind Clint, and then went dead still. Splitting his attention from the narrow-eyed look Tony directed at Steve, Clint glanced over his shoulder. Cap’s attention wasn’t on Tony or the AI, he stared—riveted—at the painting of Peggy Carter on the wall.

“Yes, Rogers,” Tony said slowly, drawing out the syllables of Steve’s last name. “This is the family home of Margaret Carter, she grew up here and vacationed here over the years.”

With a simple gesture, Steve peeled off the veil and met Tony’s gaze. “So you did know it was me.”

“Know? Not really. Suspected, yeah. Same height, same build and you didn’t say a word.” Unfriendly didn’t begin to describe the look in Tony’s eyes, but he slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels as though trying to maintain a casual façade.

“Tony…”

“Yeah, we’re not speaking.” Tony told him. “You’re here. Fine. But I want to talk to Barton, and you can zip it.”

Cap let out a long sigh. “Look, I know…”

“What part of zip it didn’t you understand, Rogers?” Tony abandoned his relaxed pretense and took a step forward. The armor shifted its posture and faced them again. “I’m not here to talk about my best friend and I’m sure as hell not interested in talking about yours or how you left me for dead for him.”

Left him for dead? Clint frowned. _What the fuck?_

“I’m here because I want to talk to Barton about _his_ best friend. So stand there and look tall, stoic, and aggrieved while the rest of us get something done.” Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from both of them. The armor didn’t move, its focus lasered onto them.

“Steve, why don’t you sit this out, yeah?” At this point, if Tony were going to arrest them or shoot them, he would have already.

“I’ll stay,” Steve said quietly, then folded his arms and moved to lean against the wall near the door. His stance clear, and stubborn as usual. When Tony faced Clint again, he didn’t look in Rogers’ direction at all.

Rubbing the back of his neck in an almost unconscious gesture, Tony nodded to the sitting room. “I’d offer drinks but I’m abstaining at the moment and I don’t want to waste time making coffee.”

Clint walked into the sitting room, letting Tony be at his back—a deliberate choice. Though he clearly didn’t want Steve there—and there was more that whole issue than either man had said—Tony seemed earnest about _talking_ to Clint, so he’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Particularly after their last conversation at the Raft.

After taking a seat, he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and waited. Tony didn’t waste time. He walked into the room and the armor shifted its position, keeping itself between Tony and Steve.

What the actual fuck went down in Siberia? By the time Steve liberated them from the Raft, he’d only said Bucky had decided to return to cryo and that the Winter Soldiers in Siberia were dead and Zemo in custody.

So…this was so much more than just the airport and Accords fight.

“Do you know where N—Romanoff is?” Tony asked without preamble as he dropped into a chair that allowed him to keep both Clint and Steve in his line of sight.

“Why do you want to know?” Clint was all about playing fair and going along to figure out what was happening, but… “Particularly since I know she’s also on the run and there are warrants out for her immediate arrest.”

“Yeah, T’Challa told Ross what she did helping Capsicle and the Manchurian Candidate escape the airport. Nothing I could do about it.” A flicker of something in his eyes, and a hint of disappointment touched his mouth before his expression went sullen again. “Do you know where she is?”

“Not at the moment,” Clint told him honestly. “Nothing you could do or nothing you wanted to do?”

“Could. The Accords were pretty fucking binding and _she_ signed them. Ross wants her head.” And that last item pissed Tony off. Interesting. “Can you get a message to her?”

“Maybe. What do you need to find her for?” It was like a tennis match, slamming the ball back and forth.

“Is that a maybe if you feel like it or a maybe if you can find a way to communicate with her or a maybe pigs will fly out of your ass?” Tony challenged him. “What I have to talk to her about is for her.”

“It’s a maybe, period. She’s in the wind and not necessarily receptive to communication at the moment.” None of which was a lie. “If you want my help, I want to know why. I’m not setting her up for you.”

“She’s not that far in the wind, we both know she was in London. And you’re not her father, Clint. You are a father, but your kids are somewhere else.”

The blow hit, but Clint refused to rise to the bait. “Yeah and based on the circus at that place we both know she’s long gone.” Clint more than Tony, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “So if we’re just going to play these games…”

As he rose from his seat, Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and scowled. “Fuck, this is a terrible time to not be drinking. Fine…no games. Natasha’s out there, alone and exposed. She’s obviously not with Captain Hypocrite and the merry band, and she’s not safe at the Avengers Compound or the Tower. There’s no SHIELD, and as previously stated, she’s wanted by the UN and a number of governments. She’s alone.”

And that bothered the fuck out of Clint, except… “She’s a big girl and works really well alone. She’s also managing to avoid everyone looking for her, including you.” That wasn’t based on anything more than Clint’s knowledge of his best friend. “She could do this in her sleep.” It was her training, she could be a ghost as unnerving as the thought might be.

“But she doesn’t have to…and sooner or later someone is going to get lucky. Best case scenario, it’s the UN and she doesn’t give them a reason to shoot her.” But the way Tony said it, he didn’t think she’d give them the opportunity to take her in.

Clint damn well knew she wouldn’t. She spent too many years being controlled by others. “You’re not worried about the best case scenario of them just arresting her.” Perspiration dotted Tony’s forehead. “What are they planning to do to her Stark?”

“Nothing that I’m aware of…”

“But you’re worried about something.” Steve interrupted. “Worried about Natasha. Why?”

Tony didn’t even glance at Cap. “Like I said, nothing that I’m aware of…look, I owe her. She shouldn’t be out there alone, and—”

“Oh man. Tony what did you do?” The unbelievable disappointment and disapproval radiating from Cap annoyed Clint.

“Cap,” Clint said, his voice even as Tony stood up. “Let me handle this, yeah?”

“What did I do?” Tony glared at Steve. “I almost died in Siberia. That’s what I did. Left there to die by my so-called _friend_ the honest man and his brainwashed bestie who killed _my parents_. That’s what happens when you smash the arc reactor and leave me at the bottom of a freezing silo with the other corpses.”

Steve flinched.

And Tony wasn’t done. “What I did…I warned Nat that T’Challa turned her in after the airport—after we were back at the compound, after Rhodey made it through his first surgery. I told her Ross was coming…” His voice cracked, but his expression was all fury. “I told her double-crossing had to be in her DNA and then she was gone. I was pissed…but she told me to get over my goddamn ego, so I went to the Raft, I found out where you were going and I went. I had the evidence to clear Barnes on the bombing, and I was going to help. To make amends…then you left me to die. After you lied to me.”

It was all raw, open wound now and Clint flicked his gaze from Tony to Steve. With every word, Steve’s expression transformed from stoic to pained. Every syllable hurled at him struck with an element of truth.

“You knew Hydra killed my parents. You knew Barnes did it. You can make all the justifications you want, Cap. You complained about your teammates not telling you things, and then you hide that. You were right in your letter…you were sparing you, but I’m done with that now.”

Breathing hard, Tony clenched his hands and released them over and over. The silence grew harsher, and hotter.

Finally Clint said, “And this is why you want to find Tasha?” Maybe if he could reel them back in from the edge, blunt what was far more a personal vendetta than an ideological one.

“Because Tasha got me out there,” Tony said, his voice almost whisper harsh. “She’s the one who came to Siberia. She saved me…she got me back to the States and then she disappeared again. I _need_ to find her…need to make it right for her and make sure she is okay.”

Leave it to Nat. She always did do things her way. At the same time, Stark’s extreme conviction concerned Clint.

“I can’t ever say I’m sorry or apologize for not telling you Tony…not in any meaningful way. Looking back…you’re right. I had a lot of opportunities. I should have told you. And I was obsessed with finding Buck.” Well that was a step forward for Rogers. “He’s the last tie I have to a world I thought I’d lost…my best friend and he’s spent the last seventy years as a prisoner of war, and made to do the worst possible things. I know he killed your parents…he killed my friend Howard. _His_ friend Howard. And we all have to live with it. I don’t know how to make it right. I just knew I had to save him.”

“Well we’re all glad that worked out for you, aren’t we?” Weariness punctuated the words and Stark slumped back into his chair.

Lowering his head, Steve sighed. “We can help you find Natasha. Help you fix whatever it is you need to fix with her. If you want…”

Clint shook his head, glancing from one man to the other.

“Not sure you have Tasha’s best interests at heart,” Tony said, and while he wasn’t glaring—he definitely wasn’t friendly yet.

“C’mon Tony, she’s my _friend_.”

“Yeah…your friend…the same one Barnes has shot twice and at the time, before we knew he hadn’t done it, he was suspected of a violent bomb attack that hurt her…and he did try to kill her again on his way out of the Joint Terrorism Task force facility.” Voice soft, Tony smiled an almost cruel smile. “You chose Barnes over her, too. So at least Tasha and I are good company.”

Steve dropped his folded arms and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He sucked in a deep breath as though fighting with his temper. Or maybe he was considering how to disarm the latest land mine in his discussion with Stark.

But hey, at least the guys were talking. Look at Nat, she could work magic even when she wasn’t here.

“Bucky was triggered…Zemo had a book with code phrases…”

“Who cares?” Tony was up again. “So he was triggered into the murderous weapon of mass destruction, he shoved people. Knocked them out of his way. He tried to shoot me, but the glove stopped it. He flung me aside, then Sharon, but Natasha? Natasha he tried to _kill_. So maybe your boy is all blameless and controlled, but his actions towards Natasha? She couldn’t breathe, Steve. He slammed her into a table so hard, I heard the wood crack. His metal hand was locked around her throat, and he was squeezing. She was turning red, and she couldn’t _breathe_.”

Clint flexed his own hands.

But Tony wasn’t done. “So don’t tell me you’re in this to help Nat because she’s your friend, your friend could have died that day and you would have done _exactly_ what you did just like you left me there to freeze to death in armor I couldn’t remove and had no power to move in.”

A vein pulsed in Steve’s forehead, for a moment he looked torn between responding to the verbal attack or slamming out the door. Then Steve looked at the painting of Carter on the wall, and the tension began to bleed out of him. “You’re right.”

Silence.

Then… “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

Not looking at Tony, Steve said, “You’re right. I chose Bucky over everyone. No matter how many people he killed at the Triskelion or how many times he shot me or Nat. No matter what he’d done to you. I chose him…I told myself I wasn’t choosing the Winter Soldier because that’s not who Bucky was. I had to save Bucky, the man I let fall off that train. I had to save my best friend... and I’m sorry I had to run over you and everyone else to do it. None of you deserved that.”

Another long silence.

“Tony,” Steve said when Tony went totally still. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Neither do I.”

After both men went quiet again, Clint said, “At least you’re both talking.” Yeah, it fell as flat as it was to have been saying the words. “Okay…you can’t get drunk.” He said pointing at Steve, then at Tony. “And you’re trying to get sober. I have neither of these afflictions, and I need a drink.”

With a sharp nod, Tony stood and led them toward the kitchen. “There isn’t much here, the house wasn’t stocked with much since I planned to only stay the night. But there’s always something.”

Cause Tony Stark always had the good shit.

Sure enough, he found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen. It would do. Clint poured himself a glass, then knocked it back. The heat hit his system and spread through his tense muscles. Refilling the glass, he glanced at the other two. They were on opposite sides of the room, postures alternating between rigid and defeated. God they were a fucked up group.

All of them.

But they had a common goal—a common friend. Maybe it was a start. “Are the Accords going to let you look for Nat, or do you need to stay in the background and let us do the groundwork?”

“I’m not going back without her. If the committee needs to reach me, Friday will let me know.”

Okay. “And you’re willing to work with Steve on this?”

Tony spared Cap a look, then returned his gaze to Clint. “I’ll work with _you._ ” A distinction to be sure. “If he comes along, I’ll deal with it. But don’t ask me to trust him.”

“Surprised as hell you’re trusting me.” He tossed back the rest of the second glass, and the violent tension knotting his gut loosened.

“Not sure I am,” Tony admitted. “Tasha trusts you.”

Did she? Once upon a time, yes. But after everything that happened…? The minute the thought trailed through his mind, he dismissed it. Nat wouldn’t have left him the info at the safehouse if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have made new covers. She would have damn well hurt him at the airport.

No, if anything, he’d been the one not trusting her. Clint stared at the empty glass and fuck, he missed her. Missed her like he missed his damn bow. “Fine,” he told the glass without looking at the other two. They were giving him a damn headache. “I’m going to sleep. We’ll start fresh tomorrow after I pull on a few threads. But if you go with us Stark, you either have to travel separate or completely incognito.”

“We can work it out,” Tony said, accepting. “You can both stay here tonight. There’s plenty of rooms. I’m going to do some work…” Which meant he didn’t plan to sleep.

“Can I ask a question?” Steve said quietly, thoughtfully.

Clint glanced at him, but Steve was staring at Tony.

“You can ask,” the engineer stated, his tone not promising he’d answer.

“How do you have access to Peggy’s house?” The bewilderment in Steve’s tone suggested he didn’t understand the how or the why of it.

“What, you thought you were Aunt Peggy’s only friend among the Avengers?” There was just a hint of cruelty in Tony’s voice. “Hate to burst your bubble, Capsicle. Aunt Peggy and Dad were really close, I grew up with her and her family when I wasn’t at boarding schools. She was also my godmother.”

“But you weren’t…” Cap hesitated.

“What? Wasn’t at her funeral?” Tony smirked. “You sure about that?” He waved to the house. “Stay. Go. I don’t care. Just make sure I can reach you.”

Then the man walked out and his armor followed him.

“I didn’t know,” Steve whispered, probably more to himself than to Clint.

Still, Clint didn’t let it go. “Maybe not, but you apparently knew about Stark’s parents and you definitely knew how you left him in Siberia.” And all of a sudden, Clint understood why Cap didn’t have his shield anymore and why he wouldn’t talk about happened, just said it was done and changed the subject.

“I have no idea how to make this right.” At least Steve could admit it.

Sparing him a long, hard look, Clint said, “You can’t _make it right_. It’s done. You can’t undo it. You can only learn from it, and make better choices, and start over. It’s all any of us can do.” Then because he had zero intentions of leaving the house, he could pick up the go bags the next day, Clint poured himself another drink. “I’m going to find a room and get some sleep. You should do the same. We’ll reconvene in the morning and figure out our game plan.”

Clint climbed the stairs and chose the hall away from Tony’s armor. He’d let himself into a room and sank down on the bed when he heard the front door open, then close again. A part of him considered going after Cap, in case he decided to take off. But Steve was a big boy, he would do what he would do and right now, Clint didn’t want to think of how to fix what Stark and Rogers had broken.

Yeah, Steve was hella in the wrong. But Stark was no angel. It didn’t make either man right in how they’d treated the other or the choices they’d made.

“But at least they’re talking,” he said aloud and took a sip of the whiskey before he pulled out the fresh burner he’d taken from the flat. It connected to their shared email, and he checked the outgoing messages.

Three of his drafts were gone.

The fourth disappeared while he stared at the screen.

_C’mon Nat…_

The fifth and last vanished.

He sipped the whiskey slowly, letting the alcohol numb the throbbing ache in his skull. It wasn’t until he finished the glass that a message appeared in the drafts. Clint thumbed it open.

_Go home. Your kids need you._

Setting the glass aside, he deleted the draft and opened a new one.

_Not going anywhere, Nat. Coming to find you. Don’t make me have to hunt. You know how I am._

Then he waited. The message vanished almost as soon as he’d created it. The corner of his mouth kicked up at the fresh draft appearing.

_Zhopa._

A laugh broke loose and Clint shook his head.

_Don’t curse at me in Russian. It’s rude._

He didn’t have to wait long.

_Cul._

Snickering a beat before he sobered, he added a new draft.

_London was good work. What’s the next mission?_

C’mon Nat, he encouraged her mentally. No immediate response. The draft didn’t disappear, but Clint waited. He checked every couple of minutes. Then let it drag out to five minute intervals.

Finally after an hour, the draft vanished and a new one appeared.

_No missions._

Frowning, he drafted the next message.

_Then tell me where you are, and I’ll be there. You and me, just like old times. You know you miss me._

He thought it might be another long wait, but she answered swiftly.

_I have red in my ledger._

Fuck. She would never let up on herself. Ever.

 _You have more than that. You have friends. You have me…you have a place you belong._ He didn’t add anything about Steve or Tony, yet. Nat had enough on her plate, and those two were a bag full of cats at the moment. The last thing he wanted was her in between them _again_ and being torn apart by their war.

_No, Clint. You have a family. You have a wife. You have kids. You should go home. SHIELD is gone. The Avengers are gone. I have no place in this world._

Fuck.

He wanted to punch something.

_Laura filed for divorce. The kids are fine. They’re safe far away from me at the moment. The Avengers are hot-headed, impetuous fools, but they are still here. Pieces maybe, but here. You do damn well have a place in this world._

_Where are you?_

She didn’t answer. Dammit, he should have told her to let him help.

Dawn found him checking the messages again, but no response awaited him.

No place in this world—he hadn’t heard that damn phrase from her in years.

What the hell had they all done to Nat?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he forced himself out of bed and went to check the shower. He needed to clear his head, then put together a plan.

Twenty minutes and a sketchy shower later, Clint headed toward the stairs. Tony’s armor was still in the hall. “Let Tony know we need to talk plans,” he told the armor.

“Certainly, Mr. Barton.” Hell, Clint had forgotten there was an AI. “Mr. Stark will join you shortly. There is coffee in the kitchen, Mr. Rogers returned a short while ago with food and more.”

Of course, he had, and while he was somewhat glad Rogers was still in, he was definitely a little more glad that there was a coffee. So the agenda for today included coffee, food, and then wrangling Stark and Rogers into a semi-cooperative effort to find Nat.

He’d tracked her down before. If she wanted to play hard to get…well he’d always seen better at a distance and this time, he had some very motivated, if a little cracked, backup.

The only question he really needed an answer to before he got started was how much of Nat did he really plan to share with Tony and Steve? More, how much did they already know?


	7. No Place in this World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Paris, Natasha is haunted by both the past and the present as she tries to strategize her next moves.

Chapter Seven

_No Place in This World_

 

Natasha

 

 

The message had been burned into her brain. _Laura filed for divorce._ Heart aching in a way she’d thought she’d forgotten, Natasha stared out of the window of her Parisian flat. But she didn’t see the French city beyond, not when her gaze stretched backward and across the ocean. Burner phone in hand, she weighed her next decision carefully.

_Laura filed for divorce._

Dammit Clint.

Pressing the numbers for another burner phone, she cut her gaze to her watch and hit the timer on it at the same moment she hit the last number.

Two rings then, “Are you okay?” Laura’s voice, breathless and worried.

“I think I need to be asking you that question,” Nat said gently.

“Clint found you.” It wasn’t really an inquiry.

“Not yet, but he did get me a message.” More than one. She’d seen them in the draft folder, she just hadn't been able to bring herself to read the messages. Not when she had so much to do. The fact they were there told her he was okay and that was enough.

“Of course he did.” The lack of bitterness in Laura’s voice warmed Nat, because no matter what else happened—Laura and the kids didn’t deserve to be caught up in the war sundering the Avengers.

“Mom…” Lila’s voice called from the background.

“Go back to bed, sweetie. I’ll be up in a minute. Cooper, take Nathanial up to his crib for me, yeah?” Cooper’s soft, yet firm and affirmative reply melted Natasha’s heart. “Sorry, I’m back. It’s bed time but the kids are restless.”

Of course they were.

“Can I do anything? Do you need anything?” Both seemed weak questions, stupid ones…

“Unless you’ve found a way to turn back time, no not really.” Sadness echoed across the line, then Laura cleared her throat and strength flooded her voice. “What about you? Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I’m doing what I always do.” She couldn’t bring herself to lie to her. “I’ll have to hang up in a few, but I transferred money into the account. I’ve also set you up with Isaiah, if you need anything—and I mean _anything_ , call him.”

“Nat, you didn’t have to do that…”

“I know, but you have all of Isaiah’s information. He knows to respond to any request you make.” Including if the final notice protocol went into effect. Isaiah would liquidate everything, the majority of the money would go into trust accounts for the kids, but a dedicated fund would also supply personal protection for them. “If it gets too bad, call Tony.” All differences aside, Tony would help them, too.

“Not sure he’d want to hear from me, not after…” Laura didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“You didn’t do anything, Laura. That was Clint. That was me. Tony’s pissed at us and we deserve it. You don’t.” Then because she wanted Laura to believe it, she added, “Everything Tony has ever done has been to atone for his past and to make the future stronger. He’ll help if you need it.” Not for the first time, she wished she was there.

They said nothing, the empty air between them stretching. Laura gave into temptation first as the timer on Nat’s watch approached the time they needed to end the call. “You’re not going to ask me?”

Playing dumb about the divorce would be an insult to both of them. “Do you want to tell me?” Her best friend and his wife getting divorced just didn’t compute and added another fault line to the foundation the Accords and the fighting between the Avengers had already cracked.

“Not yet,” her friend admitted, tears echoing in her words before she cleared her throat. “Not yet…maybe someday?”

“Maybe.” Nat accepted. “Whenever. I’ll be here.” _Until I’m not_. Though she didn’t say those last words aloud. She didn’t have to. Laura was very aware of the world.

“Stay safe, Nat. Keep your head down…take care of you.”

“Take care of you,” Nat repeated. “Give the kids a hug for me?”

“I will.” Then she gently disconnected the call with only a second left on the timer, saving Nat from having to make the decision. It was a kindness Nat didn’t deserve, but then when had Laura ever been anything but kind to her?

Shoving the phone back into her pocket, she returned her gaze to the skyline. A ping on her laptop pulled her attention, and she crossed to where she’d left it sitting on the table next to the sofa along with her tea. Steam still curled from the cup so she hadn’t let it cool too long.

The first round of decryption had completed, and she settled in to go through the files. London had been the break she’d been hunting. After Zemo—after Siberia—Natasha had a lot of questions, and not all of them to do with what the hell had Rogers been thinking—answer, he hadn’t, he’d been thoroughly compromised by his relationship to Barnes.

Maybe Tony’s presence should have been a surprise, but it hadn’t. Of course he’d gone, Tony was incapable of letting anything go—not when he either felt himself to blame or more, when he thought he could help. He devoted so much of himself, he lost himself to the work, and it had been why she hadn’t recommended him for the Avengers in the first place.

Not his narcissism, though it had been a part of it, but his inability to step aside or to avoid personal involvement. It made it doubly dangerous for an operative—any operative.

Still, what she’d found in Siberia had stunned even her. More than Tony’s condition and the fact it had been Steve—dammit Steve—who’d left him like that. The tape, and the other information in the control room. She’d gone back down after she secured Tony in the quinjet. The whole facility had been wired for sound and video—old school but there. Good old fashioned overreach. It had let her view the tapes of what went down, the fight Zemo manipulated them all into, but the worst part—the worst part had been _how_ he’d manipulated it.

Who the hell recorded an assassination? Particularly one by the Winter Soldier. He was a ghost, and had been for decades. Yes, Natasha knew he existed, and she’d had her own encounter with him. Yet every time she tried to trace him, she’d run into dead end after dead end.

Even the file she’d compiled—after a careful raid of an old KGB depot and the calling in of a few old favors—was as much full of theory as it had been fact. The assassin stayed off the grid intentionally, and his handlers cleaned up behind him destroying any evidence.

She was familiar with the routine, her own handlers had done something similar for her over the years—not that she ever left much trace. So it begged the question, why had they gone out of their way to not only video Howard Stark’s assassination on some isolated road in California and but then also kept it?

Scrolling one line at a time, she studied the data. There was a lot to go through and she’d have to decrypt each layer, to get past supply lists and shipping transactions. The base hadn’t been Hydra, it had been a clearing house for a lot of organizations. Or maybe they’d just climbed to the top of the pile as Hydra crumbled. It didn’t matter, Hydra wasn’t the only organization in play. Before the KGB went down, one of the jobs Natasha had worked involved uncovering these shadow organizations. Every government had them, some had more than one. Most were comprised of wealthy investors seeking to carve out their own personal power. Those were the easiest to deal with, and the easiest to destroy. The ones based on shared ideological madness—like Hydra—were far more insidious.

Nothing worse than a fanatic who believed their own painful rhetoric. During her time at SHIELD, she’d continued the work. Fury assigned her the most nebulous of cases, trusting her to plunge into the darkness and find the answers he needed.

A lot of the data pointed to Russia. Too much of it. It was like a game of Mad Libs done spy style. Human trafficking? Check. Classified compounds and experimental pharmaceuticals? Check. Weapons? Check. Specialists…

 _That’s interesting._ Natasha opened the file her program cross-referenced with the entry. Specialists. Physicians. Scientists. Researchers.

Lists of them.

Her stomach curdled at the sheer number of them. They came from all over the world.

Three had been at SHIELD before it fell. She’d been assigned to shadow two of them during a European conference once, just keep an eye on them and make sure no one bothered them. It had been a boring damn assignment when she hadn’t had to walk through the convention floor and see all the contraptions and methods they were using for their work.

That part had been a nightmare.

Nausea swam through her and she pulled her attention from the screen. Looking away, she picked up the tea and took a drink to fend off the torrent of sense memory. Antiseptic smells, flickering fluorescent lighting, white coats—hell, just the sounds of a gurney’s squeaky wheels rolling over tile could throw her back.

A pulse thundered in her mind, as if her heart had relocated and hammered against the inside of her skull. Or maybe that was the person she could have been, screaming about being trapped in the body of a monster.

Maybe it was both.

Only when her stomach settled and she disciplined her thoughts once more did she return her attention to the screen. Keeping mental order was vital. She’d told Rogers once that the truth wasn’t all things to all people all the time, and neither was she. It had to be fluid, because the truth was the most dangerous of enemies and it could slip a blade through any defense, cutting deep past the tissue and into the vital organs.

Exhaling through her nose, she perused the list of scientists. Most of the names meant nothing, so she’d have to research them. Beyond the ones she recognized from SHIELD, another she identified because she’d seen his corpse. Hell, she’d assassinated him.

Sometime in the 90s—maybe. Okay so these scientists might not all be current assets.

For some reason, that did not make her feel better.

After draining her tea, she switched screens on the laptop and compiled a quick program to use the list of names and pull any available data off the net. It was a surface skim, she might not get much—but sometimes she didn’t need much. Hitting run on it, she leaned back against the sofa and folded her arms. The laptop was good, but it still needed processing power and it was also running a decryption.

What she wouldn’t give for some time with SHIELD’s old supercomputers or better yet, Jarvis. Jarvis would have been handy…

 _Except there is no more Jarvis._ A pang of sadness echoed through her. The AI hadn’t been a real person, except—he had been. Only now he was Vision, only he wasn’t. It wasn’t like she had any right to miss him, Jarvis hadn’t been hers—only, working undercover for Tony and later living at the tower, she’d gotten used to him.

Hell after she’d managed to reboot Rhodey’s suit and free him from Vanko’s program overrides, Jarvis had sent her a message.

It had said _Thank you._

Simple. Elegant. Utterly unexpected.

No one thanked her.

Closing her eyes, Natasha sighed. Fuck, she was getting maudlin over a computer program. She needed sleep. A lot of sleep. Maybe two bottles worth of vodka would be enough to help her black out for a few hours. Though in truth, it usually took more like four.

Fucking scientists and their meddling with her metabolism.

Maybe if Jarvis had been around, he could have helped Tony when he went to Siberia. Maybe they wouldn’t have all tumbled down the hell hole of the Accords.

“And maybe wishes are horses and you can ride, Romanoff. Get your head out of your ass and focus.” Muttering the words aloud galvanized her, and she spared a glance at the screen before carrying her teacup into the kitchen.

Why record the Starks’ assassination? Zola indicated they killed Howard Stark to get him out of the way at SHIELD. What had the screen said? _Accidents will happen._

He’d told them Hydra removed the Starks.

Howard Stark along with Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy Carter founded SHIELD—they’d transformed the SSR into the organization that became SHIELD. Carter had served as the director for decades with Stark in close consultation. Phillips died of natural causes in 1970. He’d retired from day to day activities at SHIELD sometime in the 50s, though all evidence pointed to his being at least a consultant until the day he died.

Twenty-one years later, Hydra sent the Winter Soldier to assassinate the Starks and they made it look like a car accident. Covering up that it had been an assassination wasn’t unusual—she’d had plenty of assignments to make a death look natural or accidental. Those were about removing opposition or troublespots rather than sending a message. You made it look messy when you wanted a message delivered.

You also didn’t send the Winter Soldier for something as simple as a car accident. Chewing her thumbnail, she paced back out of the kitchen and stared out at Paris. The little one bedroom flat had the best views from where it was located at the top of an old apartment building.

No, you didn’t send the Winter Soldier to create a car accident. No, you sent him when you wanted to send a message or you needed an impossible kill—the Stark assassination had been neither.

Or had it been? Was that why it had been recorded?

Natasha focused her gaze across the green roof of the building across the way. Weathered and pitted, it had stood the test of time.

Phillips died in 1970, but the man had already been distanced from SHIELD. Stark worked with the organization and with Carter, but he was also focused on his family in the same time period. Tony had been born not long after Phillips' death. A late in life baby for the inventor—maybe it explained the distance between the two men and their trouble relating to each other.

Howard and Maria Stark died in December of 1991…December 91.

Two weeks after the KGB fell and the Soviet Union dissolved, Howard Stark had been assassinated.

There was no such thing as a coincidence. Hydra made a play for power as the Soviet Union dismantled and Russian assets had been up for grabs—maybe that was when they’d gotten ahold of the Winter Soldier. It hadn’t been clear in the files she’d managed to put together.

Or had they had him the whole time via their holdings in Russia?

Yeah, she didn’t want to think too closely on Hydra controlling the KGB, her bloody history was enough with everything including the idea she’d inadvertently done their work while in SHIELD. She really didn’t want to think about how long she may have been one of their puppets.

Even she didn’t have enough room in her ledger for more red.

Okay, Phillips—1970. Stark, 1991. Who gained with his death? Carter was still the director of SHIELD. Pym broke away in the late 80s, and Stark’s death meant two of the greatest scientific minds were no longer at SHIELD’s disposal. Carter would retire a few years later, but SHIELD itself didn’t change fundamentally.

Stark Industries did. After Zola’s announcement Hydra had the Starks killed, she’d assumed Obadiah Stane had been Hydra. That wasn’t a stretch, but she had no conclusive proof and he was dead anyway. Dead after he tried to have Tony assassinated—another odd move. The files she had on the Afghanistan incident included Phil’s reports of Stane losing his mind and trying to use a modified version of Stark’s armor to kill Stark. Reportedly, prior to what happened in Afghanistan Tony was content to keep building bigger and better weapons, drinking, and womanizing.

In fact, it positioned Stane perfectly to maintain control of Stark Industries and reap the rewards of Stark’s genius? So why rock that boat?

 _Power._ A power play at Hydra maybe?

_Regimes fall every day, I tend not to weep over them. I’m Russian—or I was._

She’d seen many regimes come and go over the years, and no, she didn’t weep over them anymore.

“Let’s say Stane was Hydra, and he had the Starks killed as a power play.” Saying it aloud gave it some weight and value. “He wanted to send a very clear message, so he had them use the Winter Soldier.” Still plausible, still tasted right on her tongue. “But who was the message for?”

Not Tony. Even if Tony had been the very unwelcome recipient of that ugly bit of knowledge, Stane hadn’t recorded the message for him.

“Or was it recorded to keep Stane in line?” Oh. That tasted better. “And anyone else on the American half of Hydra, those embedded in SHIELD?”

Much better.

“So who was Stane close to back then?” Fuck, she had more research to do. In the early 90s, she’d been too distracted to pay attention to the socio-political corporate struggle in America.

 _Or I could ask Tony…_ Not really an option. Tony didn’t want to see her. He’d have to turn her over to Ross. Though it made her wince internally, she couldn’t fault him if he took a small measure of glee in it. Germany had hardly been her first betrayal of his trust, maybe duplicity wasn’t in her DNA but it had definitely been bottle fed to her.

_Trust no one._

_You have no friends._

_You need no friends._

_Friends make you weak._

_Friends make you stupid._

_Friends will get you killed._

_There is only you, you and your strength._

_You have no place in this world._

Black Widow. Natalia Alianova Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. Natalie Rushman. So many fractured pieces, but all holding one truth above everything— _I have no place in this world_. She’d followed Barton when he made the offer, she’d accepted his alliance and strove to earn his trust. His trust had some value to her, as did Nick’s.

In the end though, Nick hadn’t been able to trust her fully. Barton had, but nothing had been the same since Loki.

The damn god of mischief had taken one crystal clear shard she’d managed to find and sundered a thousand tiny cracks under the surface. The episode with Loki had been far different from any other job she and Barton had worked together. Sure, he’d been shot a few times, her too. She’d saved his life. He’d saved hers. They’d holed up in the crappiest places and sewn each other back together. They’d used vodka as an anesthetic and leaned on each other to stay upright.

Loki hadn’t wounded Barton’s body, he hadn’t almost _killed_ him. He’d torn apart his mind, and turned him on everything he loved. The deaths on the hellicarrier—fighting Natasha…those she could deal with.

Telling Loki her secrets though, stripping bare what she had confided in Clint? It marked her as much as it had him and when he’d pulled away, she’d let him. Then Wanda happened and the memories she’d dredged to the surface…

Twenty-eight ballerinas… the image burst to the front of her mind and Nat turned away from the window, and walked to the bedroom. There, she sat and put her head over her knees, then focused on breathing.

 _Not today…no flashbacks today._ Icy heat slithered over her skin, as if she were both too hot and too cold in the same moment. Her gut roiled, and her mind trembled. She’d gone years only having to face the memories in her sleep, half-remembered if horrifying dreams and nightmares that slipped through her fingers as she jerked awake, leaving only her racing pulse and sweat soaked sheets as a testament to their presence in the first place.

After Wanda, the memories flooded over her no matter what time of day or where she was. All it took was one small crack to let them in, and then they would pour through her. Minute by minute, she got her breathing under control, and finally her heart rate.

Lying on her back, she folded her fingers together and stared at the ceiling and resumed her mental perusal of what she knew.

When Tony was kidnapped after the botched assassination attempt, Stane had been negotiating several large contracts with the military. SHIELD had Stark Tech, a lot of it. Not an unreasonable stretch that Stane and Pierce had contact. It fit, but she’d have to confirm. Stane wanted to take out Tony to have full and uninterrupted control of the company. Even without Stark’s genius, Stark Industries had been a decade or more ahead of its competition, still was.

Then what? Did Stane plan on challenging someone for control Hydra? He controlled the weapons and the tech, which meant if he choked off the supply?

Fuck, not all the pieces fit. It was as though she could see the different aspects of the puzzle, but some bits and bobs belonged to another box.

Recording Howard Stark’s murder would provide the handlers with ineffable evidence of the asset’s completion of task. It proved to the one who requested it that the job had been done, and it could also provide intimidation…

Intimidation.

Nat sat up. Howard Stark had been a wealthy, influential man with reach into many areas of the government beyond SHIELD. Powerful, resourceful, and damn hard to hit—but they’d hit him and taken out not only him, but also his wife and they made it look like an accident.

 _That’s the kind of intimidation you use when you want your thumb on more powerful people. Look, see what we did here? We can just as easily do it to you._ Then one assassination becomes a point of leverage for multiple subjects. How else does Hydra entrench so deeply not only in the organization but also the industrial complex and government supporting it?

“So say all of that is true,” Natasha verbalized slowly. “How the hell did Helmut Zemo discover there was a tape in the first place?”

First possible answer, he’d found it in the myriad of files she’d dumped on the Internet. The idea sent a fresh wave of illness through her. She’d dumped more than a million files, some encrypted, some not, and not everything tied together with a sequenced chain of events. Hydra’s files, SHIELD’s, her own—they’d all gone out there.

Second possible answer, he’d learned about the Winter Soldier project and used SHIELD’s files to confirm other intel. Somehow he’d gotten his hands on a book with key phrases to control the Winter Soldier. A shudder raced over her flesh—she was all too familiar with control phrases, leashes designed to bend the mind to subservience, emptying out all that had been there before and leaving it open to compliance.

Pressing both hands to her head, she dug her knuckles in. The bite of pain drove off the memories. Too many ghosts of wicked words and lost control, she didn’t need to think even a little hard on the subject.

Third possible answer, Zemo had linked Hydra’s assassination of Stark and went to prove an intuitive link to the Winter Soldier, how better to destroy the Avengers than to pit Tony Stark against Steve Rogers over unforgiveable acts. It was almost elegant in its simplicity, and if left to fester—the wound would turn septic. Finding the tape in Siberia had been dumb luck.

Right. She scowled and abandoned her bed to pace back to the living room. Sleep would only bring nightmares and she had enough to deal with during the day. She couldn’t solve the intricate whys behind a decades old murder, so she focused on what she had in front of her.

A faint buzz from the laptop pulled her attention. It had compiled twenty-five percent of the list, did she want to begin reviewing?

Sure, she’d already decided she didn’t want to sleep. After making a fresh cup of tea, she resumed her position on the sofa. Within minutes of placing the calls to the various agencies, Natasha had left London and moved directly to the Paris safehouse. She’d already been ensconced when the news broke. Watching earlier, she’d seen Tony arrive to collect his tech. He looked better, still pale and he’d covered any remaining bruises well, but there had been a stiffness to his gait and twice his hand had gone to his left arm.

Had it ever recovered from the blows he’d taken from Barnes during the Soldier’s flight from interrogation? Dragging her attention back to the screen, she sipped her tea and started reading.

A lot of the scientists and specialists on the list were dead, but not all of them—and they all had one very unpleasant thing in common: they’d all done work in genetics or genetics related fields.

Fuck, who were the people running their crap through that warehouse in London? And exactly what fucked up plans did they have for the people they’d taken. Most of those remaining had been too weak for any kind of experiments, and one woman had complained of a heart murmur while another had asthma. The dozen she’d rescued had been discarded for this project.

She needed to track where the rest went. Then she also needed to find out what other ties they had to Ross and those UN members all gung-ho to string the Avengers up. If she could get rid of him and the rest—through legitimate means no matter how easy erasing them from the board entirely would be—then perhaps they could get a reworked Accords that would help repair what had been fractured.

Hope was a very dangerous drug. An intoxicating and addictive substance, one she’d been inoculated against since she was three years old. At least that long, and yet no matter how she tried to avoid it, Fury, Barnes, Barton, Rogers, Stark, Banner, hell—even Maximoff and Rhodey kept compromising her.

_Stop._

Plan. She needed a plan.

Identify the threads tying into the London warehouse, track them to their sources or at least their final destinations, then backtrack from there.

If they were resuming Erskine’s or Zola’s or the Red Room’s fuckery, burn it down.

Free any potential victims.

The last needed to be a priority. Too many people in the world were now in the line of fire because the Avengers couldn’t get their shit together long enough to face off against a coordinated attempt from multiple governments who were _afraid_. Instead, they’d let that fear feed into their own, and everyone had a bad damn day.

_Emotion is dangerous, Natalia. Emotion compromises reason and logic. Feel what you must, but never, ever allow it to control you. Choose the battles and the battlefields, then you can also control the outcome._

The last item on her list had to be proceed with plans for Ross and the UN, but it had to take a lower priority. She couldn’t be selfish, and she would gain nothing other than getting Clint home with his family, and maybe a chance for Steve and Tony to repair what they’d done to each other and maybe—just maybe—she could buy James some peace. After everything that happened, he didn’t deserve one iota of the retaliation and retribution filtered his way.

The fall of SHIELD had led to a monster hunt by the press and world governments. The Winter Soldier. The Black Widow. The Avengers. They were all just fresh targets to aim all that fear and vitriol at, but if she took the Avengers away from them, they would redouble their efforts on James…

 _Barnes, Natalia. Barnes, do not think of him as James_.

Another sip of tea and she flipped back to the decryption of the warehouse files. One location leapt out at her… Arkhangelsk. A flicker on another window behind the one she studied on the screen had her tabbing over. A new draft in the email folder. She should have closed the damn thing. She’d read the messages in a moment of weakness, a moment of needing to know he was okay.

Tapping open this one wasn’t about a moment of weakness, it was about being compromised. The time would come when she needed to cut all her ties to them, it would be necessary—the world needed its monsters and if she played it right, she would be the villain and they would all get their lives back. Until then…

_Nat, I know you think you’re on your own. You’ve always believed it. From the moment I got the drop on you, you wanted to decide your own fate. You listened to me then, and I need you to listen to me again. We’re coming to find you, and we’re going to help and you’re going to let us. Your place is with us…and we need you. So you can run, but you can’t hide from me forever. Remember, I found you once and I will find you this time. Until then…call this number if you need me, I’ll keep the burner with me. I’ll see you soon. Real soon, I hope._

Dammit Barton.

Her fingers twitched, as if responding had become an automatic impulse for her. She didn’t want him anywhere near where she planned to go, none of them should. They were tainted enough by association with her, and if he had to follow her back into that pit she’d come from…

Arkhangelsk. The name scraped a memory inside of her, something calloused over and yet still raw. It would be going home in its own warped way—the city was home to the first Red Room, at least the first one she could remember.

It always came back to Russia.

Re-reading the message, she committed the phone number to memory and then deleted the draft before creating a new one. _Wait, he said we—he said we’re coming to find you. Who the hell is we?_ The thought sobered her reaction and she frowned. Had it been a slip to tell her he’d been compromised? Or a warning that he had company coming with him? Company like Steve Rogers or Sam Wilson or one of the others who’d come to Cap’s side of the fight?

Fuck, what if he meant James? Clint knew she’d thought she’d known James before—only then she’d thought of him as the Winter Soldier. The memory had been vague, and indistinct. D.C. served as a cognitive recalibration and knocked more memories loose.

She didn’t have them all and she may not ever find them all, but one thing she knew for certain—James should not be anywhere near the dark places she needed to travel. Icy fingers squeezed around her heart. No James. No Clint. No Steve. None of them.

Hell, not even Tony Stark in his damn suit of armor.

Just—no.

_No._

After she typed her response, she logged out of the mail and closed out of the program in case he tried to trace the IP she logged in from. She’d masked it, and rerouted, but she couldn’t risk Clint getting too close.

Decided, she booked travel arrangements for Russia. She still had some contacts there, and more, she had caches of weapons and money, enough to get her by. With her plans secured to leave the next day, she returned to the decrypted files and resumed her reading.

Information was power and she needed to know everything she could before she got…wherever the hell this particular rabbit hole went.

 


	8. I Want One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys come to a form of compromise when news reaches them of a new attack. Can Tony and Steve set aside their differences? And sometimes, Tony's too damn smart for his own good.

Chapter Eight

_I Want One_

 

Tony

 

 

Croissants. Pastries. Egg sandwiches. Bacon. Coffee. The breakfast of champions, and all of it hauled in by a man who left him for dead. The last place in the world Tony Stark wanted to be was sitting across from Steve Rogers while Clint Barton ate his way through three sandwiches and drank two full cups of coffee. Surprisingly, Steve ate nothing and considering his metabolism, it was a feat worth remarking on.

Tony finally took a cup of the coffee, but only after watching Barton drink his. The protracted silence blanketing the room extended. Avoiding staring at Steve by gazing past him to the garden visible out the window, Tony went over the schematics in his head. He’d finished up the design for the new reactor and nano tech armor. Theoretical a few years ago, he’d tinkered with it on and off since returning from Afghanistan—last night’s simulation proved a first success.

As they sat here, Friday had already advanced the design to alpha production. He’d be able to test it soon. Very soon. Barton finished his last egg sandwich, and then pulled out his phone as though he were checking messages. Nothing changed in his expression, but his knuckles went a little whiter for a moment before he turned off the screen and set the phone down.

Finally, the archer dragged his attention to Tony and Steve. Rogers hadn’t said a word to Tony when he’d come down, if he’d said anything to Barton beforehand, they didn’t share it. Personally, Tony could live with the silence. If he didn’t need Barton to find Natasha…did he need Barton?

“You know, not talking isn’t going to work,” Barton said finally as he refilled his coffee cup. “Not talking is what got all of us into this.”

“You called this meeting,” Tony said, his tone dry. “Then spent all of it shoveling food. I figured you needed a minute or…” He glanced at the clock. “Twenty.”

Steve huffed out a breath, but didn’t say anything and Tony didn’t look at him. The last thing he wanted to see was that holier than thou expression on his face.

“You two laid your cards on the table last night,” Barton began, apparently done with the waiting game. “So now I’m going to lay mine…”

For a split second Tony met Steve’s gaze, then they both shifted to face Barton. Looking at the archer far easier than each other. “Lay it on me.” Tony said as he leaned back in the chair, falling back on the flippant tone he’d used to survive board meetings with tired old men who’d thought he was a waste and journalists who just wanted a piece of him.

Clint lifted his eyebrows, then shook his head. “You two are going to have to work together on this and if you can’t, then you can both stay here and I’ll go find Nat.” The level tone carried neither malice nor threat. “Tony, you attract the press and attention, the world is watching you. Steve, you’re the second most wanted man on the planet and you stand out like a sore thumb. The photostatic veil can only do so much—frankly I don’t think either of you would recognize stealth if it stood up and bit you in the ass.”

“So you’re not going to help?” Tony wanted to clarify his position even as Steve said at the same time, “I can learn.”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t help and didn’t say you couldn’t learn.” Leaning back in his own chair, Barton was the picture of relaxed. “But let me throw a hypothetical at the two of you—we’re crossing through Europe, we’re on a train because trains bypass a lot of borders particularly when it starts in one country and travels through several others. We’re sitting together, we have to sell that we’re three businessmen, or one businessman with two bodyguards…you two can barely look at each other, you don’t think that tension won’t translate? You can’t sell what you don’t have.”

“First,” Tony said, ticking it off on his fingers. “If I’m going as me and you’re my bodyguards we’re not going to be on a damn train. Second, if we’re not going undercover, we’ll take the stealth quinjet you probably have stashed somewhere. Third, Rogers doesn’t have to come, you’re right, he is wanted, but so are you.”

“Yeah,” Barton said with a slow smile. “Nobody notices me. And you’re missing the point, Stark. I came with Steve because Steve asked me to help _him_ find Natasha.”

Tony shot a look toward the super soldier, his stoicism gave way to a grimace, but finally he nodded and cast a quick look at Tony. “Do you want me to comment on that or should I continue shutting up?”

Asshole. “Comment, but be snappy.”

“Yes, I asked him to help me track down Natasha.”

“Why?” The question snapped out of Tony before he could swallow it back. Did he really care what Cap wanted with her? Then something in him knotted, yes he did care. Steve’s plans where Natasha had been concerned hadn’t been the best. “You want her for the Manchurian Candidate.”

Yeah, Rogers didn’t even try to deny. “And because I’m worried about her. She’s had my back over the years and…I let her down. She risked her own security to let me and Buck go. I owe her.”

“And you _need_ something from her.” Tony jerked his gaze away. Tony needed something from her, too. Her. “Does this all tie back to the Red Room?” Dropping the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since he’d spotted Barton at the warehouse, he didn’t look straight on at Barton, but he didn’t miss Steve’s hard swallow or the way Barton narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you asking about the Red Room?” Not a denial, at least not from Barton. Steve on the other hand went mute. So, did that mean the illustrious fallen war hero turned Hydra psycho assassin had once been a part of the Red Room?

Oddly, instead of adding to his ire, the thought just made Tony ill. What facts he’d been able to unearth so far told him the institutions and people behind that place should have been burned to the ground and the earth sowed with salt where it had stood. “Enough to be wary of it, not enough to get all my questions answered—particularly as it affects Tasha.”

“Then leave it a thread you don’t pull,” Barton said, all pretense of drawl or relaxed speech gone. The man stating this was all business, and his tone sober and severe. “It’s not something we talk about and you don’t bring it up to Tash.”

“I’m not going to ambush her.” Fuck, he was an ass sometimes but he wasn’t a complete monster. “But it’s part of her past, and it’s…” He shot a look at Steve, then at Barton. The conversation would go a lot easier if Steve just weren’t there. He wanted to ask a lot of questions, questions he’d bet shares in SI that Barton knew the answers to, but they would tip a hand to Rogers and…

“I think Bucky knew her in the past.” Steve offered into the quiet and Barton exhaled a long sigh. So, they’d discussed this.

“And?” Tony said when Steve didn’t continue. Was he just going to throw that out there?

Steve scratched at the thick stubble turned whiskers on his cheek. Discomfort echoed in his posture, then he straightened. “After SHIELD fell and before Bucharest, Bucky was on his own for a couple of years. He spent some of that time trying to put the pieces back together. There’s…journals.” Revealing Barnes’ secrets left a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. “Nat’s name is in one of them.”

Brow arched, Tony studied him. Where was he going with this? “Just one?”

“I’m only three-quarters through one so far.” Color shone in his cheeks as he flushed. Yeah, he was definitely embarrassed. “And her name is in there a lot….on intermittent pages. Including some details about when he shot her in Odessa.” The last he said to Barton.

“Read that last night did you?” The archer said as he pushed away from the table to stand. He raked a hand through his short cropped hair.

“Yeah, after…after last night, I’m trying to understand it all. Maybe I can’t find all the answers and maybe I can’t understand it…but I think Nat can.”

So he wanted her for Barnes, which meant short of dropping Rogers into a cell, he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’d already proven there was no length he wouldn’t go to for his brainwashed buddy. “You know, you could just ask him instead of raiding his journals like a peeping tom.”

“Stark,” Barton said before Steve could respond. “A, not helping, and B, you’d do the same damn thing if it was your best friend and you couldn’t figure out any other way to help him.”

Maybe.

Yeah, okay, he’d do a lot more than maybe. “Fine, so what happened in Odessa since the two of you clearly know what that references?”

“Unimportant,” Barton said, but Steve shook his head in a sharp jerk.

“Yes it is important. That’s where Bucky—the Winter Soldier shot her. You knew he’d shot her twice, but Odessa was where it happened the first time.”

“Not according to her records,” Tony slid another look at Barton.

“Her records aren’t out there anymore,” Steve complained.

“No, cause I purged them,” Tony stated. “Should have done it a long time ago. Still keeping secrets over there Barton?”

“Fine, fuck it. 2009, Odessa. Nat’s assignment was to get an engineer out of Iran. Someone shot out her tires and sent her car over a cliff. She managed to get the engineer out. But the sniper took the shot through her to take out the engineer. The scar on her abdomen is from that mission.”

“That was right before she came to work at SI.” A part of him wanted to ask what month she got shot in.

“Yeah her next assignment after she got done convalescing. Should have been a milk run except some crazy billionaire jackass went a little nuts.”

“Eccentric, thank you, and I was _dying_.” Pretend to pee just once in the suit and everyone called him crazy. “So why wasn’t the injury listed in her medical files?”

“Seriously man? Do you want a DNA sample and her family history while you’re at it?”

A part of Tony wanted to say yes, because he wanted to know everything. At the same time, what he wanted more was her in front of him and _safe_. “This isn’t getting us any closer to going to find her. So is the kumbaya part of the day over or do we need a little more Dr. Phil?”

“Dammit, Tony,” Steve let out in an explosive huff. “He’s trying to protect Nat—from us.”

Tony swiveled to face the other man. “No shit, Cap. You come up with that on your own?”

“Sure did, right around the same time I figured out hostility is your default.”

“Well one out of two isn’t bad, maybe work on that and get your averages up.” With a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the captain and looked at Barton who pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked aggrieved.

“Barton, I’ll help you get a damn pardon if that’s what it takes. I just need to know she’s safe and if she wants me to fuck off, she can tell me that to my face and I’ll go.” After he got a tracker on her, but damn he just wanted to see her face. To _know_ with his own eyes she was okay and then maybe he could somehow come up with the words to apologize for being a jackass.

Barton finally just stared at him and Tony didn’t blink or look away. If the man wanted to read his intentions, go for it. At the moment, Tony had nothing to hide.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stark. Miss Friday wishes to speak to you on an urgent matter.”

Saved by the AI. “I’m not alone Friday, so be a good girl and just give me the highlights.”

“Turn on the news boss, Paris, France. Assassination attempt.”

Tony was up and moving back into a media room on the far side of the house with Barton and Rogers right behind him. Well not directly behind him, the suit was at his back and it kept Rogers a few steps away. Tony was so not ready to have Rogers that close to him.

“On who, Friday?”

“Natasha Romanoff, Boss. 100% visual match.”

Fuck. Edwin had the screens on when they entered and news reports showed the smoking remains of a Paris apartment.

“…in a stunning turn of events this morning, Paris was rocked by two terrorist incidents. The first, gunfire broke out on the Paris streets as several masked gunmen and a woman sources are identifying as Natasha Romanoff, former KGB assassin and SHIELD asset….”

“And an Avenger you asshole,” Tony muttered.

“…the following footage was caught on street cameras, and should be deemed as unsuitable for children due to the graphic nature of the footage…” The newscaster barely finished the warning before street camera footage, some shitty and some only moderately decent filled the screen.

Five masked gunmen strode up the middle of a street, they weren’t firing but they had their guns at ready. Debris filled the air and there was smoke. A camera cut out and another piece of video footage showed smoke pouring from the side of a building. The angle was a birdseye view, giving a diagonal on the street and the gunmen were visible.

A familiar red head burst out of the building on the street level. She wore what looked like a backpack and had her glocks in hand. Two of the gunmen went down with a spray of blood even as the other three opened fire.

Tony could almost hear the sounds, but the camera offered none. Then Nat raced out of sight and another camera angle picked up the footage. A running gun battle on the street. She took out two more, leaving the last guy and he threw something at her.

Another explosion.

“A fucking grenade?”

“Shit,” Barton muttered as yet another angle showed civilians rushing out of the buildings and away from the burning vehicle. The gunman was in the middle of it and he was taking aim, then Natasha was just on him. His gun went flying and she rolled him around, latching onto him with her thighs and then slamming him into the ground. With another twist that had to have snapped his neck, she dropped him, and then more men flooded around her.

Six on one, and they were armed.

The camera angles divided to show two side-by-side videos as the fight escalated. Natasha never stopped moving, she flowed through the fight like a wicked blade slashing, striking, and thrusting hard. Within moments, she had all six down, but she’d pressed a hand to her side and she whipped around to look at a building and yelled something.

Then she was running and one camera shook as if another bomb went off and the other blinked out.

“As you can see from this footage, a very brutal battle took place on this Paris street, and firefighters are working to contain the blaze and structural integrity after a top floor apartment reportedly exploded. At this time, investigators are working to determine the origin of the blast and French authorities are closing all major travel ports into and out of Paris. The terror threat level has been raised and a UN Joint Task Force has been deployed under direct orders for the apprehension of Natasha Romanoff, wanted on numerous charges. Secretary Ross of the United States, also currently under fire for files discovered in a London warehouse, issued the following statement.”

Then Ross was on the screen, “Romanoff is a former Russian operative and a highly trained spy, at this time she is wanted for questioning on a number of matters up to and including her violation of the Accords. We assure you, all measures to apprehend her are under way.”

“Mr. Secretary,” a reporter yelled out. “Will Tony Stark and the other Avengers be called in for the hunt?”

“Nope,” Tony said, before Ross declined to answer any questions and the video feed switched back to the street where the firefight had taken place and was now cordoned off by French police. A number of body bags were still present and the damage to the building was significant.

“Paris safehouse,” Barton said. “Off books and not under one of Tasha’s burned aliases.”

“One of yours?” Tony said, needing something to focus on that wasn’t the only glimpse he had of the redhead in weeks and she’d been fighting for her life.

“Ours,” Barton admitted. “We had a few.”

Of course they did. “So you know where she might be heading, if that house was burned?”

Because fuck if it hadn’t been burned.

A sudden slam, and the cracking of plaster jerked Tony around. His suit deployed its gauntlets, and the repulsors glowed as it stepped between Tony and where Steve stood, his fist half buried in the plaster. “She’s being hunted because of us. All of us, and we’re standing around arguing whether our motives are decent enough to be the ones to go and help her.”

“Yeah, we know. And we’re also getting info cause the one guy who can think like her is standing right here.” Why the fuck Tony felt the need to offer him that bit of comfort he didn’t know. Probably had nothing to do with the way Nat had grabbed her side. No, nothing to do with the idea she’d gotten stabbed or shot after someone tried to blow her up—again. “Edwin, after we’re gone, make sure to bring in someone to fix the wall. Don’t need any of Carter’s kids seeing that.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

“Boss,” Friday was suddenly there. “I’ve been tracking Agent Romanoff as best I can, but she engaged something that blurred her out on a camera outside of a Paris rail station. She was there, and then…gone.” His baby girl sounded perturbed. “Based on the time stamp of the disappearance and correlating with the shutdown of all rail lines, there were only two trains that departed before the all halt was ordered. The first with a final destination of Berlin and the other headed to Vienna.”

“What are the stops on the Vienna train?” Clint asked.

“Boss?”

“Answer him baby girl.” Tony told her, his gaze flicking back to the screen as they were replaying their graphic footage. It would probably take over the news cycle and push Ross right out of it, unfortunately. Unless…

“Stuttgart, then Munchen, and finally Vienna.” Friday answered like the good girl she was. “Berlin is a nonstop high speed commuter.”

“She’s going to Vienna,” Barton said. “It’s at least ten hours by train, that’s if she doesn’t ditch out at an earlier station and boost a car.”

“Why Vienna? And why not go somewhere else if she ditches early?” Not that he didn’t believe Barton, but because he needed to understand the logic.

“Because if she ditches early, the last place any authorities will think she is going is the train’s destination.” Steve said, almost sounding surprised. “She’s done that before, when we had a bad extraction and we were separated from the Strike Team.”

“Huh,” Tony said. “You had something useful. First time for everything.” Yeah, he really couldn’t help himself and right now he didn’t want to.

“Friday, I need my jet warmed up…”

“Send your jet back to the States,” Barton advised him. “We do have a quinjet and we’re better off going _quietly_ without Tony Stark’s bells and whistles.”

“AC/DC is not bells and whistles.” Affronted, Tony glared at him then let it go. “Okay baby girl, warm the jet up and make it look like I’m getting out of here. Have security send one of my decoys and make some noise, but avoid any press cause they’re going to be asking about Romanoff. You’re wiping the rest of the facial recognition pieces where she’s concerned?”

“Yeah Boss, I missed this one though because one of the CCTV feeds went live as soon as the explosion happened. Something to do with city wide response to attacks in Paris.”

“It’s okay, you did good. Keep them all off the radar and add me to the list.” Ignoring Steve’s startled look, Tony added, “Ross hasn’t reached out, has he Friday?” Tony had been ignoring him. A lot.

“No Boss. Not a word. Vision inquired if we were being deployed, but so far the committee has been silent on the matter.”

“They probably don’t trust you to bring in an Avenger,” Barton said quietly.

“Or they don’t want to bring her in,” Tony said, then clenched his teeth. Ross definitely didn’t want her brought in, he’d had a bone to grind with her from the beginning. Maybe something to do with Bruce? Ugh, Tony didn’t want to think about it. At least Banner had stayed off the radar completely so far. “So if we get in front of her, we can be at the safehouse and cover her there?”

“That’s one theory,” Barton said. “The other is she’ll avoid us like the plague if she sees us coming.”

Okay, no matter how rational Barton’s statement, the idea kind of stung. Tony glanced at his suit which was still focused on Steve. They didn’t have time for this, so he made the call. “I’ll work with you—both of you. We call a temporary truce. We go, we get Nat. Then we deal with the rest of this later.” Or not at all. He was good with not at all.

Barton slid a look towards Rogers. Cap clenched then unclenched his fists and finally nodded. “Agreed. For Nat.”

“For Nat,” Barton murmured. “Then grab your gear, we need to go.”

And the three men split up like they’d coordinated it. Steve returned to the kitchen and packed up the breakfast he’d brought in, Clint headed out to the car, and Tony collapsed his suit into a case before grabbing his overnight bag from upstairs. He hadn’t brought enough stuff with him for the quick trip, so he’d have to make it up as he went.

“Boss,” Friday said, her voice quiet when he was alone in the bedroom he’d worked in through the night. “Are you sure about Captain Rogers?”

“No,” he told her honestly. “But I believe him when he says he wants to find Nat, and he’s motivated by his BFF, so I know he won’t quit.”

“When you find Miss Romanoff?”

“One potentially world ending catastrophe at a time. How’s production going?”

“We’re at thirty-one percent. At current rate, the alpha model should be ready in twenty-four hours.”

“Good,” Tony said with a nod. “As soon as it’s ready to go, send it to me.”

“You got it, and Boss? Be careful.”

“Always am,” he snarked.

“No, sir.” Edwin disagreed primly. “You’re not.”

Yeah. That was fair. “Take care Edwin.”

“You too, Mr. Stark.”

Less than two hours later, Tony sat in the back of a stealth quinjet winging towards Vienna, Austria. One half of the original Avengers on their way to rescue their member. But were they really Avengers anymore?

He and Steve hadn’t exchanged a word after the tacit peace accord at the house. Upon boarding the quinjet, Steve settled in a corner and pulled out a book from his bag. Tony had spent time reviewing more news reports, looking for any clues as to whether the authorities had caught up with Nat.

Frankly, he doubted they could, but it only took a moment of bad luck to turn everything sour.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the message from Friday.

_Abraham Erskine and Pavel Federov listed as joint researchers from 1922 to 1931, Special Projects Department X. Federov later listed as senior geneticist Department X, special project Red Room._

Tony’s gut tightened.

_Federov linked to Ivan Petrovitch, also Red Room special project Black Widow._

_Continue research?_

Closing his eyes, Tony wanted to curse. Special project Black Widow?

_Everything special about you Rogers came out of a bottle…_ The words zipped back to him. _It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? Sticks in the DNA._

He typed in his affirmative response and then leaned back against the seat and slid his gaze towards Barton. After a glance at Rogers, Tony rose and moved to the co-pilot’s seat and pulled on a pair of the headphones. When Barton glanced at him, Tony held up three fingers and moved his headset to channel three.

One moment later, Barton said, “Yes?”

A hundred variations of how to open the conversation came to mind, but only one question slipped out. “Nat’s got a version of the super serum, doesn’t she?”


	9. You know what Romanoff...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more layers Steve peels back, the more he realizes he doesn't understand. The worst part is, the deeper he looks into Bucky's psyche the more horrified he becomes. Also, the guys are closing in on Nat.
> 
> Or are they?

Chapter Nine

_You know what Romanoff…_

Steve

 

Since leaving Peggy’s house—Christ, Peggy’s house. It never occurred to him Stark—Tony had any relationship with Peggy. The sheer fact the idea never dawned made him an idiot at best or an asshole at worst, maybe both at the same time. Peggy and Howard had been friends, even when he went to see Peggy at her facility, so many pictures had surrounded her and Howard had been in some of them.

 _Truth be told, I didn’t want to look at the pictures._ Didn’t want to think about the life she’d had after he went into the ice. The beautiful, wonderful life she’d built because for Steve it seemed only a few weeks past by while she’d traveled the decades alone. A dance at the Stork club, a single, fevered kiss mid-battle, a fleeting taste of her lips and he could barely recall them other than she’d lit him up for those spare few seconds and Colonel Phillips announced he wouldn’t be kissing him.

Then, just like that, it was all gone. The Stork club, the Howling Commandoes, the life he could have had…like Bucky before them, they were just gone. All that remained was Peggy, and she had changed so much and lived such a full life. God, he still loved her and he’d been damn grateful for the time he’d been allowed and resentful in the same breath for the way age and infirmity continued to steal her away. Then came the terrifying realization that she may only be the first of those he cared for that time would steal.

The chance to get Bucky back, to steal back one piece of a past so lost to him was a temptation and lure he couldn’t and wouldn’t deny himself. Yes, he loved Bucky and when he had nothing, he’d had Buck. His best friend had saved his life in every way that counted…

 _Fuck._ Steve stared blankly at the pages of the journal. In the silence and aware of Stark’s presence just a few feet away and Barton a few feet farther, he couldn’t shake the spectres of his past decisions. They’d all inevitably lead here, to a place where he’d been so selfishly involved in what had happened to himself, he’d failed to see the bigger picture.

Tony and Peggy knew each other, had a relationship and maybe Tony had indeed been at the funeral, only instead of dominating camera time and bringing the focus to him—he’d probably sat in the back and tried to go incognito. He’d grieved in private.

Then they’d all ended up in Germany.

Focusing on the page in front of him, Steve scanned it. What he’d said earlier about the journals felt both freeing and like a betrayal. Stark wanted Bucky dead because Bucky had been the instrument behind his parents’ death. Yet revealing the connection Steve suspected was a two fold betrayal—first of Bucky, but also of Natasha. Not once in all the months they’d worked together, not during the fall of SHIELD and all the time after, had she once said she’d known Bucky.

A part of him wanted to believe she didn’t remember it, so she hadn’t lied to him even by omission. _My teammates have a habit of not telling me things._ The not so subtle verbal jab he’d leveled at Stark during the Ultron incident, his frustration mounting on so many levels. Bucky was still missing. Stark and Banner built a damn murderbot. They’d found Loki’s staff only to have it stolen again. Enhanced had ripped him open—had ripped Natasha open. And he’d learned about Barton’s family—there was a kick to the nuts. All those times he’d imagined Barton and Natasha had some kind of unspoken thing, Barton had been married and likely Nat was his beard.

Could he fault Nat for lying to him on that level? Not really, she’d let him believe the rumors like everyone else and hadn’t bothered to correct it. Then there was her flirting with Banner which bugged him far more than he thought reasonable for a trusted colleague and teammate. But after Banner disappeared and the Ultron issue had been solved, he and Nat resumed the close relationship they’d had when partnered at SHIELD. She was in every way his best friend, closest confidante, and trusted to have his back.

Then the Accords.

No where during any of it had she mentioned Bucky. Not once, outside of answering his questions when he’d asked her for advice. After she gave him the file, she’d avoided the investigation and Steve always thought it reasonable because Odessa, D.C. and…sure, but during the course of the night when he couldn’t sleep, he’d poured through most of the first journal looking for more mentions of Nat.

And he’d found them.

A lot of them.

Some were vaguer than others—red hair. Some were very specific—tiny dancer, and little spider. Some left him torn between terror and confusion—500 yard shot, clean; knife work, impeccable; seduction technique, beyond compare. Then below it all a question in English that broke his heart: _why do I remember dancing?_

Intermittently amidst the rubble of thought Bucky documented on the pages, he deciphered the Cyrillic for Natalia, as well as for Red Room. He was near the end and at the top of the page began a new list of names. Several had lines drawn over to the other page and in the center was Nat’s name again.

The last name on the list was Steve’s.

_Fuck._

One thing this little assignment had done for him was give him great experience in doing internet research and exploring other apps on his phone. Nat would be so proud. The only reason he could work on the device at all was Shuri promised him it would be untraceable. He barely noticed when Stark moved up to sit next to Clint or the fact both were wearing headsets.

Tony had wanted to talk to Clint without Steve from the get go, but until now he’d been denied the chance. What exactly did he want with Natasha? Did he really mean it when he said he wanted to help her?

A part of Steve longed to believe him. The same part which longed to believe Steve could bridge the chasm his omission had ripped between he and the engineer. Another part of him, a part he couldn’t say he much cared for, questioned it all. Tony’s actions while meaning well did not always go well. What had Wanda said about him?

_“Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the World and destroying it. Who do you think he gets that from?”_

Tony always meant well, so had Howard. He’d been elated about Project Rebirth, said it was the one good thing he’d ever managed to achieve—creation when so much of what he did blew up in his face.

Occasionally, Steve wondered if that ever changed for Howard or if the experience was why his obsession drove a wedge between he and Tony? Not that Steve could ask. Shaking his head, Steve focused on the names, looking up the ones written in English letters. The Cyrillic would have to wait…

Most of them didn’t pop in a regular search, though a couple turned up obituary notices, and some were old. So more names of targets. That would explain why Steve’s name was on there. And he could guess why there was a line drawn from his name to Natasha’s. But the others?

Were they marks of hers too? Or related in some other fashion? The fact either Buck or Nat had lived this horrific existence he could barely skim the surface of defied any understanding Steve could muster. Setting down the phone, he turned the pages. Buck still wrote in all directions on these pages, sometimes upside down as if he couldn’t make sense of them.

_Highway—I knew him. Handler (Pierce?) said I’d seen him on a job (Fury?) but I knew him._

_Steve Rogers – Smithsonian, America’s greatest hero._

_Barnes – Only Howling Commando to give his life in the service of country_

_So if Bucky died, who am I? And who the hell was Bucky?_

The words gutted him all over again. It was the last page of the first book. Steve pulled open the rucksack, and traded the book for another. Maybe Clint was right, in fact, there was no maybe about it. But Steve had to finish the course, he had to be ready for whatever happened to Buck.

 _Why didn’t Nat tell me she knew him?_ The last part bugged him. Not once in all the conversations they’d had did she suggest she might have been compromised mentally. _Really, Rogers? You think she’d tell you that? First, she’d have to know she had been and she already told you over and over, she probably shouldn’t be trusted and that was how everyone treated her._

But if they’d compromised her…

The first page of the next book stopped him cold.

There was a sketch of a ballerina.

_28 ballerinas of the Bolshoi were a lie. They were all widows._

_Until there was 1._

Throat dry, Steve turned the page, and found nothing but Cyrillic. Pages of it, and he could only pick out maybe one in ten words: phrases like kill list, compliance, mission report, and over and over in places _Natalia._

If the Red Room existed anywhere, or any of the people involved with it, Steve was going to burn it to the ground. The one thing he’d always hated was a bully, and if these bastards weren’t the worst bullies of all time.

Flipping, he came to a page in English again.

_Wipes take away everything, leave static._

_Cryo – always cold. Wake ups require routines, mission readiness._

_Longest continuous time out of cryo, 2 years._

_Not sure when. Time doesn’t make sense. Dreams unclear._

_Rebecca liked to be cuddled after bad dreams._

_Who is Rebecca?_

_Beth always skinned her knees because she wanted to wear Rebecca’s shoes._

_Stevie has newspaper in his shoes._

_Coney Island._

_Red heads. (My red head not at Coney Island)_

_Mrs. March liked to give me a nickel every week for carrying her groceries._

_Brooklyn(?) Dodgers_

Then more lists of names, and these were even more chilling—they included methods of death from strangulation to accidental drowning to slit throats, car bombs, and—

Steve had to stop reading that page.

_“Look, whoever he used to be and the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.”_

_“I don’t know if I can do that.”_

_“Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn’t know you.”_

_“He will.”_

Then after he and Buck went into the water with the helicopter and he’d dragged him out, he’d used a vise in a mechanic workshop to hold his arm while he waited for him to wake up.

Bucky had known him then.

Bucky Barnes was the kind you saved.

Then after the airport, after Nat took on T’Challa and let them go.

_"What's gonna happen to your friends?”_

_"Whatever it is, I'll deal with it."_

_"I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."_

_"What you did all those years... It wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."_

_"I know. But I did it."_

Steve wanted to shake him then. It hadn’t been Bucky. The Buck he knew would _never_ do those things. Leaning his head back against the side, Steve dragged his gaze away from the hellish contents of the page. Barton and Stark were still talking—or maybe it was just Stark talking. Steve could catch the tones of his voice over the hum of the engines, but not the words. If he concentrated, he might be able to…

Pushing the thought away, he shoved the book back into the bag and rose. It would take a lot of hours to wash away the images those words conjured. A part of him wanted to walk up to the front, join the conversation. But he wasn’t welcome. And it was enough Tony agreed to work with them, and was apparently hiding their movements from the UN. No need to pour gasoline on that fire.

Steve chose to head over to the communications board and he scanned for newsfeeds, skipping until he found one in English, but settled on the one in French. It was still discussing the attacks in Paris, the identities of the gunmen were not being released by authorities. The damage to the apartment building seemed to be limited to one apartment leased under the names Conrad and Nina Brighton. Apparently calls for the couple to contact authorities were being placed.

Then the news switched to an editorial on the Black Widow and a recitation of her previous crimes, and allegations. Though interestingly enough, the reporter narrating the video clips didn’t seem to be disparaging her.

“…while a massive international manhunt continues, a lot of citizens are questioning why Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow is the target of so many hostile governments. In the last few years, Romanoff has been credited with helping to fend off an alien invasion as well as taking down an international terrorist organization hiding within the bowels of one of the most trusted intelligence operations, and assisting in the evacuation and protection of the Sokovian city destroyed by the artificial intelligence known as the Ultron.” Clips of each of those events appear on the screen.

“In addition, during street confrontations with other terrorists including the man identified as the Winter Soldier, Romanoff worked tirelessly to protect the public, ordering them away, and drawing fire to herself. During the events in Paris earlier today, she also demonstrated a devotion to avoiding the loss of life. Though initial reports indicated numerous injuries, medical services report civilian injuries were limited to debris and in some cases trampling due to fleeing the scene.”

A smile touched Steve’s lips. Natasha had drawn fire, and like D.C. she’d been hurt trying to protect the people caught in the crossfire.

“Now some politicians are floating theories that because some of these events targeted Romanoff specifically, she is less a hero and more of a hazard, but these arguments were countered by King T’Challa of Wakanda earlier today while he was in New York addressing U.N. delegates on other matters.”

The image switched to T’Challa where he stood at the podium, “All the evidence of today’s attacks indicate a coordinated effort to assassinate Natasha Romanoff, and as no law enforcement agency nor the Joint Terrorism Task Force have come forth to claim the attackers and they remain unidentified, we can only assume they were not there for lawful purposes. You ask how can Natasha Romanoff be a hero if she is such a hazard? I would offer that she stands as a bulwark against hazards, and she does not do so for personal glory. She acts in good conscience and following the events in Lagos where so many of my countrymen were killed, she approached my father and myself, humbly and without expectation, to offer her personal apologies though we know she was nowhere near the site of the explosion but was elsewhere, capturing a dangerous virus before it could be exposed to the populace.”

The clip snipped back to footage of Natasha as faced off against Congress. “The question the world is asking today is, should we be hunting Natasha Romanoff or helping her? Is the international manhunt justified?”

“No, it’s not.” Steve muttered. Nothing about the manhunt was justified. But how did they prove it to the world when they couldn’t prove to one woman she wasn’t the sum of her past?

_But it was still me._

He scrubbed a hand over his face and muted the news report to move up toward the cockpit, he didn’t want to join them but he needed to know how far out they were. Tony stopped talking on Steve’s approach. “How close are we?” He directed his question to Barton in order to spare Tony any further grief.

If that’s possible.

“Maybe thirty minutes. I’m looking for a place to drop us. We’re going to have to be outside of the city, then make our way in.”

“Drop car there?” At least they’d been able to return the drop car before they left London, and Tony hadn’t said a word, and he hadn’t tried to take the passenger seat. Course, he hadn’t wanted Steve at his back either.

“Something like that.” Then without waiting for either Tony or Steve to say anything more, Barton continued, “Look, the safehouse is another apartment.” Okay, that could be a concern. “It’s in a relatively trendy neighborhood, we picked it up when it was pretty much a dump, then a neighborhood revitalization came through and made it popular. It’s a good place though, because it’s urban, and lots of foot traffic. We’re not going to stand out.”

“But lots of foot traffic means lots of potential collateral,” Tony stated, his tone worried rather than disapproving. “I thought safehouses were like cabins in the wood and off grid.”

Clint snorted. “A cabin in the woods is great, but a safehouse needs easy access to major transport hubs and a way to blend in. The reason it’s safe is because no one knows it’s there.”

“So we get there, go in and wait for her?” Steve asked, skeptically. “I don’t see Nat just walking in the door if we’re there. Not if you said she’ll try to avoid us.”

“Oh, she definitely won’t. So we’re going to go into the neighbor’s place. I was in Vienna a couple of years ago—right before SHIELD fell—long story, don’t ask. The floor our apartment is on only has two, and our neighbor was a ninety-year-old young shoemaker. He passed away, and his family was packing up the place, I offered to take it off their hands, and set it up as a backup.”

“Why wouldn’t us being there tip off Nat?” Tony frowned, then without waiting for Barton to answer, said, “Because you didn’t tell Nat you bought the place.”

“Oversight on my part, we got real busy right after that and it slipped my mind. Realized it when we were at the place in London.” He must have meant when he deciphered the message Nat left him on the window. “For now, it will be useful.” He checked his watch. “Based on the time the train left and the average speeds, we’ve got about a three hour jump on her. Time to land, get to the apartment and settle in to wait.”

Folding his arms, Steve blew out a breath. “And if she doesn’t show up?” It’s not really a question he wants to think about.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Clint said with ease. “Nat’s got a gameplan, she was after the people behind the warehouse, or at least one of the parties funneling stuff through it. We know the most likely destinations are all in Russia.”

“And the three that aren’t?” Because Clint mentioned there were were three others.

“Prague, Budapest, and Azzano.”

Steve flinched at the last one and Tony’s attention struck him like a lead weight. “Something you want to share with the class, Capsicle?”

“Azzano is where Hydra forces captured the 107th, and it’s where Zola did his experiments on Bucky.” His first real mission had been to get his friend back, and he’d ended up rescuing a hell of a lot of men. The night Howard helped him save Bucky. Dammit, it was like being one some vicious wheel, it kept turning and with every revolution the spikes dug in deeper.

“And Budapest is Barton and Romanoff’s dirty secret. You want to share with the class, Legolas?”

“Not particularly. And before you ask, no Prague doesn’t have any significance. The cities may all be dead ends…”

“Or they might be Hydra or something worse.” Not that Steve wanted to contemplate what worse was.

“Let’s not borrow trouble, so tell me why all these cities are her destination but Vienna is?” As annoying as his questions could be, Stark’s need to deconstruct their logic helped to clarify a lot of things.

“Because three cities in Russia including Volgograd, Moscow and Arkhangelsk. Those are going to be the hotter targets for her, more tempting. Prague, Budapest and Azzano are softer, but that doesn’t mean she won’t check them out. Vienna is very convenient to all three of them, and there’s also a lovely train with sleeper cars and fantastic dining that takes you from Vienna all the way to Moscow.”

“What the hell is it with the trains?” Tony frowned. “Have either of you heard of plane travel?”

“Airport security is a lot tighter than it used to be, when you want to travel quiet and far, trains are a better option. Europe is criss crossed with them, and it’s far more likely for people to make those types of journeys via train. Also it’s easier to bail out of a train than a plane.”

Steve did his damnedest not to flinch at the last, but he couldn’t contain it fully. The jerk of motion earned him another speculative look from Tony, so he took a page from Nat’s book. “So whether she takes the train all the way or gets off early and switches to a vehicle, she’ll head to Vienna because it’s closer to the others and she’s familiar with the trains?”

“Yes, and because she was forced out of Paris. If she is injured,” Clint kept his tone even and calm, he could have been talking about the weather. “We’ve got first aid supplies, and fresh weapons stocks. She’ll want to gear up before she heads into Russia.”

“Am I good to assume none of us want her going to Russia?” Again, Tony latched onto a key facet of Clint’s worry even though he had been playing it cool. Despite the pretenses he put up, Tony wasn’t oblivious.

“I’d prefer to not have to try and dig her out of Russia with the worldwide manhunt on her,” Clint said quietly. “When she defected, they sent a lot of people to take her out, there were a number of bounties on her head, and more than one kill squad that came after her and that was before I could get her from Europe to the States. After her probation, we ran into more of them during her first missions. Too many.” The archer made an adjustment on the controls, then returned his focus ahead. “SHIELD ran interference on a lot of levels, but without SHIELD…”

“She’s exposed,” Steve said quietly. “The burned covers, and needing to figure out more.”

“But the Avengers shielded her, too.” Frown deepening, Tony glared forward.

“But she has neither now, and let’s face it, no one is going to look twice if a kill squad takes her out and in Russia, she still has some enemies.”

Another damn thing that was on him. He and Stark both, if he was reading Tony correctly but he moved his gaze when the man glanced at him. “So, we keep her from going to Russia.” They could do that.

“You know,” Tony said idly as the quinjet began to descend. “I’ve always wondered how Nat defected from the KGB. She was one of their top operatives, everyone talks on the news about she was a KGB assassin.”

Clint’s knuckles went white on the control, and Tony was focused right on him.

“Your point?” Steve asked. What was Tony getting at?

“Well my point is, Nat was born when…?”

“1984, that’s what Zola said.” Steve remembered it all too clearly.

“Well the KGB effectively disbanded in 1991, right around the time the Soviet Union disbanded. So tell me, what was a seven year old doing as a KGB assassin? And how did Barton pull her out at that age? I mean if that’s when you did and she was working for them? Inquiring minds really do want to know.”

His earlier headache resurged. Impossible.

It had to be.

But then why would they…

“You should both get your gear ready, I’ve got a spot for us to land.” Clint didn’t respond to Tony, in fact, he barely reacted.

Born 1984.

KGB disbands 1991.

Nat couldn’t have defected as a child.

No…wait, the KGB disbanded in 1991 with the Soviet Union, but Bucky had been with the Russians for decades and he’d known Nat at some point in there.

Every damn time he looked a little closer, he found his understanding of the world a little more skewed or distorted.

_You might not want to pull on that thread…_

Too late.

They were already pulling.


	10. I think we lost the element of surprise...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to manage Steve and Tony while getting ahead of Nat. He has his hands full.

Chapter Ten

_I think we lost the element of surprise_

Clint

 

People as a general rule didn’t care to be lied to, but it didn’t mean they deserved the truth. The conflict continuing to eat away at Steve and Tony rooted itself in the fact each had lied to the other, multiple times—in fact, if Clint were a gambling man and he definitely was, they were lying to each other right now. The myth of working together to find Natasha was a lie, a lie facilitated by the fact neither would gain Clint’s cooperation if they didn’t lie.

So they all accepted the little tangle of lies they were telling each other—or not telling each other. Like Stark’s guilt had driven him to find Nat, his guilt at failing her or maybe his guilt at not doing enough when they came up with the Accords. It could be both. After her time working for Stark as Natalie Rushman, Nat had come back aggravated and oddly mute. It was hardly unusual for the two of them to bitch about their solo missions. In fact, if they were separated for missions, it was a ritual to grab drinks and vent to the other one.

It kept them in touch. Nat didn’t say anything. So Clint had filled in the silence. “So, dude just charges through the barriers, head to head with agent after agent and he just knocks them on their ass. These weren’t just random Level 1 fillers, it was Strike Team Beta, and they didn’t even slow him down. And there I am in the crane, arrow nocked and ready to fly and Coulson isn’t saying a damn thing over comms, I know he can see what’s happening.”

And it had been a damn impressive visual; six foot five, powerhouse and he strode through the mud and the rain like a man on a mission. “So I told him, what do you want me to do Coulson? Cause I’m starting to root for this guy. Then he grasps the hilt of this hammer _no one_ can get to move and he can’t move it. For a sec, I’m like what did he expect? They can’t even move the damn thing with a crane, and he goes to his knees and there’s this agony on his face. It kind of killed me a little inside.”

Clint hadn’t been ashamed to admit it. “Then Coulson says to move in and he’s just done, this guy isn’t fighting anymore. Later, after this whomping big alien iron man thing comes out of the sky and nearly devastates the town and almost kills this dude, the hammer went to him and big bang, flash of lightning and he’s just— _more._ ”

It was then he glanced at Nat and raised his eyebrows. “Crazy shit, right?”

“You sound like you have a man-crush,” she told him, her voice oh so droll and a hint of humor in her green eyes.

“Let me tell you, you saw him—you’d have a crush to, in fact, you know what, no. You can’t see him. Ever. It would be completely unfair to the rest of us mortals.” The tease had the desired effect, she’d laughed and if he’d been at least a little serious, well she hadn’t noticed. Her humor softened the reserve in her expression, so he nudged her shoulder. “Your turn.”

A long huffed sigh. “I didn’t like my mission.”

Of all the things Clint thought she’d say, that one wasn’t it. In fact, she’d caught him so offguard, he’d gaped at her for a solid minute until she placed a finger under his chin and snapped his mouth closed. “Sorry, you’ve—fuck you’ve never once said you didn’t like a mission.” Blunt and to the point, maybe. But Nat didn’t sound like Nat. “You’ve done some of the shittiest jobs we’ve ever been given with perfect calm. What the fuck happened in California?”

“You saw the news about Monaco? And the Stark Expo?” If his comments on her response bothered her, she never let it show. But he didn’t think she disagreed with his assessment.

“Yeah, nutty Russian. Just right up your alley.” Okay, maybe it had been a low blow and her smirk promised him retribution the next time they sparred. He could live with that, at least it had chased away some of the darkness in her eyes.

“Ivan Vanko, he was after Tony Stark—some revenge thing. Vanko wasn’t why I was there though. Fury tasked me with assessing Stark.”

“Assessing him? For what?”

“That’s classified,” she said, a disgruntled moue settling on her lips. “Fury specifically told me I couldn’t tell you about it.”

Which was the Director’s way of reinforcing protocol. When Nat came on at SHIELD, in the beginning, she’d told Clint everything. It had been one of the ways they kept their finger on the pulse of her rehabilitation. It also fostered a deep trust between them that kept her steady and focused and if Clint were honest, him, too. He really couldn’t imagine his life without Nat in it, she was that entrenched.

“That’s fine,” he assured her, because it bothered her to keep things from him. In their efforts to force her to be more open and deny the deception she’d been raised to embrace, they might have gone too far. “I totally get it. So the job was to assess Tony Stark. Is he as much of a douche in person as he is on tv?” The man might be a certifiable genius and brilliant inventor, and he’d earned a modicum of Clint’s respect for surviving months in grueling captivity, but the dude was really stuck on himself. Good reason or not, it was kind of irritating.

“He’s…complicated.”

Clint had stopped drinking at that moment, and zeroed in on his partner. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…he doesn’t trust himself. Not even a little bit. He’s very aware of his choices, and even when they’re self destructive, he can’t always seem to stop.” Nat hadn’t focused in on him at all as she stared into her glass before finishing off the vodka. “I helped him—I _think_. But I don’t think he likes me very much.”

The need to comfort and soothe her had been overwhelming. “Hey, that’s his bad taste if he doesn't.”

“No,” she said, disagreeing with him and setting the glass down before she rose. It was only when she reached for her jacket that he realized she planned on leaving.

“Hey…”

“It’s okay, I’m not good company today and I want to be alone for a while. I need to understand why the mission bothered me so much.” Instead of leaving, she lingered and studied her jacket. The troubled expression set off warning bells in Clint. Nat struggled with reconciling her conditioning to less brutal code of conduct. The mission parameters were not to be questioned, he’d had to teach her to push back if she saw a problem. Then of course he’d had to teach her that not all problems were tactical. Sometimes, she just knew and others…well others she seemed far more alien.

“All right.” Keeping it agreeable, he settled back against the sofa. They’d barely been in the safe house a couple of hours, and nowhere near like the twenty-four to forty-eight they took to decompress before he headed back to the farm or they both had to go in for missions. Clint rarely went straight home after any op, he just needed the time to come down first. Nat had followed his habits and now she was very much a part of them.

If he were off mission before her, he’d wait her out and she did the same unless they were called in.

It was their thing.

“It’s just…” God she fumbled, and that wasn’t Nat at all. She pivoted to look at him. “I went undercover as someone from the legal department, they wanted me to get close to him. I profiled him like most wealthy billionaire playboys.” Was she unhappy with her profile?

“Provide him with some beautiful scenery and let him talk around you because he’s too busy looking at your ass to notice your brain?”

A little shrug, but she remained troubled.

“And that was a problem?” What the fuck had Tony Stark done to her? Then, Clint had begun calculating the means and methods to have a word with Stark if it meant taking his damn armor apart piece by piece.

“Yes…and maybe no. Perhaps somewhere in between. It worked to net his interest, he offered me the position of his PA on first meeting. A foolish choice for a man who is smart enough to not let just anyone hand him something.” Of course, she would admire the paranoid part of him. “He was betrayed by his father’s business partner, a man who by all reports was like a second father to him. He’s in love with his previous PA who he turned around and put in charge of his company, and his best friend is a colonel in the Air Force that spends half his time trying to shield Stark and the other half cajoling him into helping out with his tech…I mean Stark let him steal a damn suit and there’s no way it was a real theft.”

Now irritation discolored her tone, and Clint would have been lying if he hadn’t admitted Nat’s frustration intrigued him. “Why wasn’t it a real theft?”

“Because the man is smart enough to code everything to himself, and to a select few. If he didn’t intend for Colonel Rhodes to take the suit, he wouldn’t have been able to.” Another huff of air. “He was dying, right in front of them and they never saw it. He's almost a master of deflection, using his reputation to distract them completely and succeeded in infuriating them both so much they walked away.”

She admired the guy, even as he annoyed her. It took all of his discipline to hide a smile.

“It all came to a head the night of his birthday party. He didn’t want to do it. He’d tried to tell Pepper a couple of times about what was going on with him and she’d been so impatient and annoyed, she shut him down. I know I was there to observe, but…”

When she trailed off and shrugged into her jacket, worry blossomed in Clint’s gut. “What did you do Nat?”

“I made up a reason to check on him, he was standing alone staring at the damage the toxin eating him alive was doing. I gave him some privacy to button up his shirt, and made him a drink. He drinks a lot.” Not a new fact, but the distance in her eyes worried Clint. “Then he mentioned he should cancel the party, so I agreed with him. Yes, the party sent the wrong message, it was inappropriate. It seemed to be what he wanted to hear, and he couldn’t stop staring at me like he wanted to ask me something…something _more._ So when he asked for the watch he wanted and sat down, I brought it to him then sat on the arm of the chair and used some make up to cover the bruises he still had from the incident in Monaco. And he asked me if I knew this was going to be my last birthday, what would I do?”

All the air had backed up in Clint’s lungs because there it was. Whatever continued to bother her about the mission was right there.

“What did you say?” His voice came out surprisingly even and failed to betray the very real concern building in him.

“I told him the truth.” The revelation slammed into him, then she added, “And a day later, he found out I’d been planted there. Fury revealed me as an agent, and the look on his face…” She shook her head. “I finished the mission, I took out the guards at Hammer Industries and turned off Vanko’s overrides on Rhodey’s suit, but Stark…Stark won’t trust me again. Cause he’s a smart guy.”

Then she was gone before he could respond. And at the time, all Clint could think was _fuck_. Nat didn’t do truth. She avoided it because it was easier to say what people wanted to hear rather than what she truly thought or felt. Too many years of conditioning telling her she was only allowed the thoughts they gave her and that the mission came above anything so pedestrian as personal.

Clint fucking hated the bastards who’d done that to her. All these years later, sitting inside the secondary apartment adjacent to the shared safe house, he couldn’t say his opinion had much changed. Only instead of being left behind to drink on his own and wait her out, he waited alongside a twitchy billionaire and a stoic, if impatient soldier. Neither man did well with the enforced isolation and need to be quiet.

Stark had initially complained about the lack of music, until Clint pointed out Nat knew his music—did he really think she’d even come up the stairs if she suspected they were there? Though the answer quieted his objections, they did nothing for his sullen mood as he worked on some three projection display he liked to use for his engineering. It was probably another suit.

At least landing and making their way through Vienna had also allowed Clint to dodge the very direct question about how old Nat was. As a sniper, he had learned incredible patience. The patience served him as a soldier, then as an archer and an agent, periodically as an assassin, definitely as a father and indisputably as the best friend of Natasha Romanoff. As it turned out, it also made ignoring the demanding stares of two of the world’s most demanding men with aplomb.

Steve kept watch out the window, angled to avoid detection from the street. Tony had Friday monitoring the CCTV cameras throughout the city. Some distant part of Clint wondered if the Accords took into account Tony’s blatant disregard for personal space.

“You know, since we’re _waiting_ so patiently, you could answer my earlier question.” Damn, Stark lasted almost ninety minutes after their arrival in the apartment. Clint lost the bet with himself. He hadn’t thought he’d make it five minutes. The faintest scuff of a boot, Steve likely shifted to look at them but Clint didn’t take his gaze off the hallway. He had a pinhole camera giving him the perfect view of the stairs. The building had a lift but the little 4x6 space was too claustrophobic and slow to use. He and Nat always took the stairs.

He hadn’t answered Stark about whether or not Nat had the super serum on the quinjet. He didn’t intend to answer him now. “You know, after she ran her op at Stark Industries, she was pretty upset.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind this indiscretion. It had been years before, and he needed to give Stark a different bone to gnaw on.

“What did she have to be upset about? I’m the one she lied to,” Tony said, but the bluster in his voice didn’t carry the right notes. If anything, he was too over the top about it. Covering for something else? “She jammed a damn needle in my neck. Fury’s pet attack assassin.”

Steve sighed. Damn the super soldier had the most expressive sighs. They just made you think you’d failed everyone and everything, the country might fall tomorrow, but you’d failed today.

“What? She did.” Suddenly Tony focused on Steve. “She came in, all primed and gorgeous with this come hither stare and bedroom eyes, did some spy whammy and got hired as my personal assistant. The woman had free run of my home, and was into all of my stuff—then she jams a needle in my neck.”

“Didn’t she do that to save your life?” Though he’d been avoiding getting into it with Tony since Stark revealed the details about Siberia, Steve couldn’t seem to help himself.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Rogers. She was supposed to _work_ for me, but she was _working_ for someone else, _spying_ on me, and then without my consent, she just jabs me in the neck. Not quite the knife in the back of other people, but disquieting and part of the reason I have trust issues.”

_I told him the truth. But Stark won’t trust me again because he’s a smart guy._

“She didn’t do it to hurt you.” Huh, Steve was really going there. “I mean I get it. She wasn’t always honest with me…not sure she’s ever been fully honest for that matter.” The soldier’s voice had softened, gone reflective. Clint hadn’t answered his questions about Nat either. Not the way he wanted. He sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to them about the Red Room. “But I know she cares, and I know she tries to do the right thing.”

“How the hell can you know that?” Okay, was Stark arguing now to argue? Clint spared a glance at the two men, and they were both resolutely looking away from each other, so he let them have it out while he kept an eye on the hall.

Steve didn’t answer right away, but Stark didn’t push him again. Finally, the soldier admitted, “I don’t know. I could point out that the injection they gave you did help and bought you time to solve it yourself. Your words, not mine. So in that case, I know she intended to help—”

“Or she was ordered to help,” Tony muttered, but Clint wasn’t sure Steve heard it.

“As for me, the only times I really had to question her was when Fury ordered her not to tell me something. Her loyalty to him surpassed everyone else.”

Not quite everyone, but Cap was close.

“Not anymore,” Tony said, almost crowing. “I think SHIELD falling changed that up. I’ve actually heard her tell him no a couple of times.”

Nat had told him no a lot more than that.

“I think it’s more that Fury played dead and didn’t tell Natasha.” Sober, soft, and serious, Steve wasn’t joking and Tony seemed to catch the mood. “I was there that day, I saw the look on her face, I watched while she gazed down at his ‘body’ and I’ve never seen her struggle before, but I saw it that day. Then I was there when she found out he was alive.”

Yeah. Clint had words for Fury on that shit. Playing dead to flush out Hydra, absolutely the right thing to do spy wise. It made total sense. Fucking dick move to do something to someone you cared about, especially someone who _cared_ about you. Nat would never have called Fury on it, not in a million years. Clint had done it for her. After they’d lost Coulson, losing Fury had to have dropped an emotional nuclear bomb on her. Adding insult to injury, Clint had been hell and gone and she’d had only Rogers for backup.

Tony hadn’t said anything, so Steve pressed on. “I heard the dead notes in her voice when she spoke to him. After SHIELD…” The man’s frown echoed in his voice. “And she dumped her file, helped take down SHIELD and Hydra. I may not always agree with her, but I don’t doubt her motives.”

“You wouldn’t, would you—she let you go.” Only the barest hint of bitterness marked Tony’s words.

Undeterred, Steve pointed out, “And she sided with you. She talked to me more than once to get me to change my mind and stand down.”

Before this little love fest went any further toward the battle that got them all here in the first place, Clint said. “Then you both left her to fend for herself, so she had your backs and you didn’t have hers. We’ve been down this road. Let’s stay on target.”

One huff, then another. Neither man happy, but neither continuing to push it.

Movement on the stairs. Clint held up a fist, and the two behind him quieted entirely. The pinhole camera was old school tech, nothing fancy, just a long lens feeding back to his handheld monitor. The woman arriving at the top of the stairs wore casual clothes, a leather jacket, a worn backpack, and pair of beaten to sneakers that had seen better days. She also possessed long black hair, and moved with a kind of brisk, no nonsense cadence—except where she kept a hand firm to her side, the jacket locked down over it.

At the top of the stairs, the woman glanced right at the apartment Clint sat inside and he smiled. There was his girl. She looked…good, all things considered. Her gaze swept the hall, then toward the lift and finally she headed to their safehouse apartment door.

Every action she took calculated and measured, despite how easy she made it look. She scanned the hall, then the door, and she used her phone to search for any electronic countermeasures that may have been added since her last visit. Having checked it earlier, he’d been satisfied with the security—he’d also done a bomb sweep. If their safehouses were compromised, he wouldn’t let her walk into another trap.

Finally, she opened the door, then stepped inside and disappeared from his sight. Setting the hand monitor down, he stood and faced the other two men. Both wore eager expressions and started forward like they intended to charge in there.

“Yeah, no. You two, sit.”

Tony scowled and Steve frowned.

“All three of us burst in there, you’re asking for a fight. I go first, then you two—but she’s on the run, her adrenaline is up, and she’s _wounded_.” The last did more to shut up their potential arguments than everything else he’d said. “And I told you before, we’re doing this my way.”

He gave them each a meaningful look, then left the apartment and walked the length of hall. Most people would have tried to be quiet, he didn’t bother because he’d rather she heard him and minimized the shock value of his arrival. As it was, he would be face to face with her glock in three, two, and he opened the door to see her glock pointed right at him.

“Hey honey,” Clint drawled, unperturbed by the gun. It was hardly the first time she’d drawn down on him. “I’m home.”

“Barton,” she said his name like a swear word, then lowered the weapon and staggered away a step. Clint wasted no more time on pleasantries, he was inside and had an arm around her.

“How bad?” He asked as he helped her into the kitchen. The Vienna safehouse had three things going for it, it had two bedrooms _and_ two bathrooms, a real luxury, and a chef’s dream for a kitchen. Someone had remodeled it before they’d gotten ahold of it.

“I’m fine.” She gritted out between her teeth as she flipped the safety onto the gun and set it on the island, just before Clint lifted her up onto it. It was a testament to their friendship that she didn’t kill him for manhandling her.

“Uh huh, is that bleeding out fine or just tore a few stitches fine?” Pushing her jacket out of the way, he could see the thick layer of bandages swathing her side. They distorted the line of her t-shirt. “Off.” He ordered, then helped pull the jacket off.

Nat stripped off her wig and tossed it to the side, then put a hand on his. “It’s nothing, I’m damn well able to take care of myself fine.”

“Uh huh,” he agreed, then tugged her shirt out of her jeans and pushed it up. The bandage darkened to a deep crimson all along her left flank, as if the injury stretched from her breast to her hip. “Stop arguing please, shirt off—and then we’re getting this off and I’ll stitch it up for you.”

Tipping her head back, she grunted. “I already stitched it up and I told you to go home.”

“You probably used a stapler in a bathroom at the airport. I told you I was coming to find you and don’t make me hunt,” he said, locking gazes with her. “You didn’t listen to me either, so take your fucking shirt off.”

“They were zip ties, not staples,” she muttered, but she grabbed the edge of her shirt with her right hand and tugged it up and over her head. The plain black bra she wore left her decent, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d seen her naked and he was less interested in her breasts than he was her injury.

“Because zip ties are so much better. Did you get any antibiotics in you?” He didn’t bother to ask about pain meds, she wouldn’t take them. Instead, he opened the freezer and pulled out the vodka. They kept all their safehouses stocked. He put the bottle on the counter next to her along with two glasses. Then he went for the first aid kit under the sink. Every safehouse had four of them, one in the kitchen, bathrooms, and at least one bedroom, then another in the vents on the off chance some asshole forgot to restock one of the other ones.

Clint had forgotten a couple of times, though in his defense, he’d been close to bleeding out when he’d stitched himself together, slept for twenty-two hours, then ditched to a flight.

Nat poured herself a glass, then tossed the whole thing back in one swallow. “Zip ties are effective, and it’s what I had on me. Not like I planned to deal with a Serbian hit squad on the streets of Paris.”

“Serbian?” First aid kit on the counter, he flipped open the lid and started pulling out gloves for his hands, antiseptic cleaner, silk thread for stitches, and the needle. They could treat just about everything non life threatening, and a couple that were. “Another drink then I’ll pull this tape.”

She obliged his suggestion, look, she could actually cooperate. Stubborn spy. “Definitely Serbian, recognized the dialect. Twelve men, probably all in their mid to twenties to early thirties. Only about half of them had real expertise, the other half were just hotheaded.”

“Only saw eleven guys on the news,” he said then peeled the first layer of bandaging off. He had to get the tape free, which pulled, but she didn’t make a comment. He was more worried about the blood sticking to the bandage and yanking on the wound itself. Three firm tugs and he had the majority of it off. The slice along her side looked like someone had attempted to carve the flesh straight off and sure enough, there were four zip ties threaded through it strategically. The wound had pulled open in the gaps, and oozed sluggish blood.

“Number twelve was kind enough to come right upstairs with his suicide bomb delivery, unfortunately he didn’t like my tip.” The flippant response was so Nat, he almost grinned. Still annoyed with her choices, however, he managed to contain his mirth.

“And taking the fight into the street? Let me guess, you pulled the fire alarm on the apartment building to get people out and…”

“And saw the gunmen through a window—fuck!” He’d snipped through the four zip ties in rapid succession. Nat took another breath, glared at him, and then continued, “Which meant all efforts to slip out unseen went away because I couldn’t let civilians run into the fight.”

“They didn’t shoot anyone, so you did good.” Someone should tell her. She only ever commented on her failures.

“People were still hurt.” Case in point.

He worked as efficiently as possible to clean the wound. It was ugly as hell. “Mostly from debris—not your fault, and from their own panic—also not your fault.”

“I pulled the fire alarm that sent them all running.” Still determined to blame herself, and she took another long drink of the vodka as he began threading the neat row of stitches. They’d done this to each other way too many times. He couldn’t do too tight a stitches and he had to leave enough room to cut them out. The only reason she hadn’t already half-healed the damn thing was she’d been on the move and zip ties.

God help him, zip ties.

“Well, I’ll give you that, because no one would have been hurt at all if they were still inside when a bomb went off.” Stubborn Russian.

“Shut up,” she muttered, then dropped her chin as she sighed. Exhaustion rolled off her in waves.

“You got out before Paris was locked down. You took out all the hostiles and prevented a far greater catastrophe. You got yourself here in one piece. The way I see it, it’s all a win.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then went back to his sewing.

“I couldn’t be party to another explosion that killed people,” she said softly. “Not again. Not after Lagos…not after here.”

Ouch. The explosion in Vienna had only been a few weeks ago. Hell, it seemed years not mere weeks. “You did it. Okay,” he said, studying the stitches along the near eight inch long slice in her side. “This should work, I’ll put some water proof bandage over it so you can shower.”

“Are you trying to tell me I smell?” The question was dry, and for a moment, he caught a hint of sparkle in her eyes.

He took the time to apply the waterproof patches over the wound, and smirked. “No I’m trying to tell you that you reek, I mean—eye wateringly bad. You’re really killing me here.” The soft scent of her was something as real and tangible as the smooth flesh beneath his fingertips.

Nat rolled her eyes, and then glanced at her side, then snapped her head toward the front door. In one move, she had the gun up as Steve and Tony burst into the room.

God, they sucked at listening.

Nat took one look at them, then her cool gaze slammed into Clint. “Really?”

“Hey, I told them to wait.” He didn’t tell her to put the gun down, neither man had moved once confronted with it, instead they stood side by side, staring at her.

“You’re hurt,” Steve said.

“We knew she was hurt, what you should have said, is _she’s safe._ ” Then Tony pinned a disgruntled look on her. “After disappearing on everyone.”

“I’m going to take a shower, when I come out—you three need to be gone.” Then she paused, and eyed Tony and Steve. “Why are you two together? Did aliens invade again?”

A hint of a flush touched Steve’s ears and Tony made a show of studying what he could see of the apartment, before eyeing her again.

“They both wanted to find you, it’s very important for them to talk to you,” Clint said, helping her off the counter and steadying her before he went to cleaning up the debris of suturing her wound.

The look in Nat’s eyes promised him retribution before she stalked off, ignoring them all. Clint merely grinned.

She had to be around to get even, and he was right where he wanted to be—at his partner’s back.

“What was that?” Tony demanded.

“She’s going to shower. I’m going to rustle up food. You two are going to wait and be nice—and this time, listen to me. She’s on edge and could have shot you. She might not hold back next time.”

Steve looked unimpressed and funnily enough, so did Tony, but it didn’t take Tony long to go back for his gear and Steve to grab his bag as well as Clint’s. They were all inside the safehouse long before the shower turned off.

Okay, what the hell did they have on hand here? There was a grocer down the street, and a little café on the next block. He was starving and she needed calories, and maybe more vodka.

Then he shot a look to the two men making themselves at home while trying not to be too near each other, and shook his head.

A lot of vodka.


	11. Bozhe Moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha struggles to understand why all three of them are there, and why Steve and Tony are talking again. Reunions can be as stressful as they are welcome, but one conversation isn't going to be enough to fix the craters in their relationships.

Chapter Eleven

_Bozhe moi_

Natasha

 

 

The hot water sluicing over her back and legs helped loosen the tension in the sore and exhausted muscles. The train had been comfortable enough, but the first car she’d _borrowed_ hadn’t and she’d only driven it as far as the little town near the border where she’d left a motorcycle in storage. That ride had been the hardest part and probably when she’d pulled on the zip ties.

Lifting her right arm, she worked the shampoo through her filthy hair. The layers of dried sweat on her scalp made it itch, and the hair itself was greasy after being trapped under the wig for so long. Washing her hair one handed wasn’t the hardest thing she’d ever done, but it made her take her time.

She could use some more taking her time.

 _Dammit Clint_. Despite the flare of irritation at his refusal to listen to her, she couldn’t deny that a niggling, utterly useless part of her preened. He’d come. Just like he promised all those years ago.

_“You choose to do this, you don’t walk it back. You walk out these doors with me, and it’s you and me kid. I’ll have your back.” The ludicrous part of the whole dramatic statement in her opinion was the absolute earnest way he delivered it. Clint Barton, the Hawkeye, believed every word he said. Believed it enough, she found herself almost swayed by it._

_No one swayed her with_ words _._

_“How the hell can you make that kind of promise?” The man was supposed to kill her. No one had ever gotten so close to her, and she’d known he’d been shadowing her for a while—watching, but keeping his distance._

_“You were relieved to see me,” he told her, meeting her gaze and holding it. Not once did he dip for a look at her breasts the robe did little to hide nor did he focus on her bare legs, crossed one over the other. He stared into her eyes, his pupils relaxed and the blue-green color of his irises seemed almost soothing even under the gentle hotel lighting._

_“So this means you should offer me a way out? A job working for your people?”_

_“Sure, why not?” Then he grinned, and dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. He still had the bow in his hand, but the arrow was no longer knocked. “You’ve got mad skills, kid. Mad skills. I’ve never seen anything like what you do—and I’m good. But you’re better.”_

_“You getting in here would suggest otherwise,” she challenged him, unswayed by his compliments. Of course she was good. She was the Black Widow. Her skills had never been the question._

_“Only because you wanted me in here,” he admitted, lips pursing for a moment. “I thought at first it was a trap, you know. You wanted to lure me in, lull me with a false sense of complacency—then I’d be in your web.”_

_Natalia Romanova had been torn between amusement at how he played off the word web and befuddled by his genuine enjoyment of their talk. “And you aren’t anymore?”_

_“Well, no. But then the gun across the room isn’t loaded, you even took the bullet out of the chamber. It’s sitting very dramatically next to the gun. You left your knives in the bathroom—or maybe under the pillows or mattress. You store them in lots of places, but you always have one on you. You’re sitting there wearing that very thin, and I have to say attractive silk robe that leaves nothing to the imagination—you know exactly how distracting it is, but it’s also clear you aren’t armed. So no…you were ready for me to come in here, and then you know…told me to get on with it.”_

_He was very proud of himself, the knowing smirk on his lips faded though._

_“And that’s why I can’t do it. You want me to help you commit suicide, and that’s—that breaks my heart. You’re far too tired for someone your age…”_

_A part of her blanked out at that moment. Her age. He had no idea. Then again, sometimes neither did she. “You do realize that there usually isn’t this much talking during an assassination?”_

_“Oh…well, I’m not your usual assassin.” Then he grinned, open, warm and practically begging for her to embrace his unusual offer, get close, then slip a knife right between his ribs. She’d catalogued a dozen ways to kill him since he’d stepped inside, aware of him from the moment he touched lightly onto her balcony. He hadn’t made a sound, but she hadn’t survived all these years by being unaware of even the changes in the air around her._

No, Clint hadn’t been her usual assassin. He’d been a savior, though she agreed to go with him—it took her months of deprogramming, interrogations, and isolation during which she hated him almost as much as she’d hated herself—almost. Eventually though—yeah, what she’d said to Loki skimmed the surface. Barton had been sent to kill her and he made a different call. She owed him a debt.

Standing under the spray, she rinsed the shampoo from her hair and then added some conditioner to it before carefully reaching for a washcloth and some soap. Some of the grime felt embedded in her pores. Bruises littered her lower back, and along her legs. Most had already begun to shrink, but the ones around her right knee remained dark, and a little swollen. She’d taken a fall during one of the explosions, and two of the men she’d fought got in a shot or two. Not enough to make her limp because of it, but she’d definitely be feeling it for a while.

Only after the water rinsed off her clear, her skin no longer crawled, and her muscles eased from the rigidity she’d developed on the bike did she rinse off her hair, and finally turn off the shower.

The laceration to her side, the bruises littering her body, and the exhaustion in her muscles had nothing on the way her soul ached. She took time to dry off, towel some of the moisture from her hair and then walk, naked, back into her room. Every safehouse they kept always had some clothes, some purchased while they were in town, others just left behind because they didn’t have the time or desire to pack them. She opened the top drawar and found a pair of Clint’s old boxers, they’d been worn when she stole them but they were soft as hell and perfect to double as sleep shorts.

Unfortunately, no panties were present save for a very uncomfortable thong that she thought she’d thrown away after that mission. Balling up the fabric, she tossed it in the vicinity of the trash. The boxers would cover her ass, and she’d dump the clothes in her duffle in the laundry when she left the room. Clean panties would be nice. The tank tops in there with them were generic, so she pulled out a gray one and slid into it. Lifting her arms pulled on the stitches, but she kept her movements slow and careful to avoid doing more damage. The cut would heal in three or four days, maybe less now that it had proper stitches.

She just didn’t want to deal with Clint’s puppy dog eyes if she pulled them. His bulldog stubbornness was easier to flick off, the puppy dog eyes were annoying. The sounds of movement beyond the bedroom told her they had ignored her warnings to leave, not that she expected them to listen. No, those three were all stubborn, intractable men in their own way and when they wanted something, they didn’t know how to let it go.

With a last longing look at the bed, she retrieved her glock and returned to the living room. If she was going to be up, she might as well clean her weapons while she was at it. One step into the safehouse living room and she had to pause. Tony had set up some holograph equipment, screens surrounded him where he worked at the coffee table—well what had been a very nice coffee table and was now covered in tools, and her…

“What are you doing with my bites?” She phrased the question as evenly as possible, because her bites were one of her favorite tools and they came in handy for non-lethal incapacitations. With the last few months of up and down, she’d taken very specific care of them to avoid long term or permanent damage.

Essentially, they were her last pair and she wouldn’t be able to replace them.

And Tony had completely disassembled them and was using a small screwdriver to pull out more of the electronics.

“I’m cleaning out the carbon scoring on the attachments, and repairing one of the shattered conduits. You’re lucky your piss poor maintenance didn’t electrocute _you_.” He never even looked up from what he was doing. “Go find food Red and grab me some coffee while you’re at it.”

She didn’t move, merely stared at him. It took a minute—a very long minute—but Tony finally looked up from his work to find her staring at him. The pupils of his eyes flared, dilating a fraction as if aware of how close to death he’d managed to venture. Then he smirked.

“Or don’t get me coffee,” he said. “I’m still finishing the repairs.”

The last time they spoke, he’d been pissed. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been near death. Now, he acted like nothing had happened, just another day in the tower. Except they weren’t in the tower and a hell of a lot had happened. Tipping her head to the side, she said, “You’re not drinking.”

He didn’t comment, just gave her a bored look then went back to what he was doing. Only, the corner of his eye had twitched and his lips thinned as he compressed them. No, he wasn’t drinking, but he wanted to. The fact he denied himself that was a good thing.

She shifted her attention to her backpack, her bites weren’t the only things he’d taken out. Her laptop and tablet sat on the side table, while her other glock and her knives were laid out on the small dining table caddy corner from the living room closer to the kitchen. Steve sat at the table, legs stretched out in front of him, a book in his hands, but his gaze locked on her.

“Nice beard,” she told him, as she carried her gun over to the table and began unloading it so she could clean it. Clint wasn’t in the kitchen. She didn’t hear the other shower going.

“You should sit down and rest,” he told her. “Clint went to get food.” Worry flickered in those blue eyes, worry and something else. His knuckles were white where he gripped the book, it looked like a journal, just a brown leather cover, with no indications of its contents.

After retrieving a cleaning kit from under the sink, she settled down and began to disassemble her guns. “Is that what brings you back to Vienna?” How, strangely, darkly appropriate. Vienna was a huge step to where it all went wrong. “Need rest?” Though she began the process of cleaning her gun, she monitored Steve from beneath her lashes. Tony had glanced at them twice, but he seemed to be focusing on his work—sans music there was no way he could miss the discussion.

“No,” Steve answered, his tone bordering on incredulous. “We were in London…and saw what happened in Paris.”

London. “Were you looking for little ol’ me, Steve?” Coy and playful, it used to knock him right off his game. Currently, the corner of his mouth kicked up, into a half-but-not-really-there-smile.

“Already interrogating me?”

“I thought I was making conversation, since you two invited yourself into my place. I could just ignore you, I suppose.” A flash of something hot and unfriendly pinged inside of her, but she shuttled it away. Nat tried not to be mean, but Steve—no, she didn’t need to justify anything. Not in her head. Not to Steve.

Folding his hands together on the book, the super soldier stared at her. She’d seen that expression on his face before. He’d worn it when he’d slammed her against the wall at the hospital. Had he thought she was Hydra then? Or had he merely been tired of her lies? Somehow, she didn’t think he knew what he’d been thinking then if he’d been thinking at all. No, he’d been running on pure adrenaline. He’d told her later of the ambush in the elevator lead by Rumlow.

Instead of a running commentary, Stark also remained quiet as if fixing her bites was the only thing on his mind. Only after she’d cleaned and thoroughly reassembled, then reloaded the first gun, did she take apart the second. It didn’t matter she had Captain America or Iron Man in the room with her, Natasha would take care of her own security.

“Neither one of you wants to talk while the other is present,” she said, as she finished cleaning the second gun. A flick of a look toward the clock told her she’d been out of the shower for thirty minutes. Clint had another fifteen before she went looking for him.

With a harsh exhale, Steve actually glanced away briefly and the tips of his ears went red. Then he looked at Tony. From beneath her lashes, she had a good vantage on both of them. Tony had reassembled the first of her bites and looked at Steve, then her.

And still the silence lingered.

“Well, I’m so glad you both came all the way to Vienna for this.” She pushed away from the table, second gun reassembled. Carrying both, she set atop the little fridge. It was very close to the door, and easily accessible. The second she kept in hand before starting water to boil. Instant coffee in the cabinet. Her stomach cramped, she’d gone too many hours without food and she’d be better off with tea, but…a check of the cupboards told her they’d failed to restock after their last trip.

Gun on the counter next to her, she spooned two heapings of the instant into the cup and waited for the water. What she should be doing was sorting through her research, reworking her travel plan to Russia, sleeping, and then getting back on the road. None of which would happen with Steve watching her every move and if she turned around, she wouldn’t be surprised to find Tony monitoring her. Did they think she was going to just apparate away like in the Potter books?

The water boiled just as the sound of steps on the stairs reached her. After flicking off the electric kettle, she reclaimed the glock and narrowed her focus at the door. The motion pulled Steve’s attention and he was out of his chair and halfway across the kitchen, halting only when she held up a hand. Behind her, the sound of a gauntlet powering up told her Tony was armed. Hopefully he’d worked on the new watch prototype he’d used in Germany.

Whistling… _Send in the Clowns._ Safety on, she lowered the glock and set it back on the counter as the door opened and Clint entered in a wreath of meaty scents, and rich pastries. “You went to the patisserie.” Okay, she might have forgiven Clint a little.

He grinned, the smile relaxed his whole face as he carried in the bags. His little grocery trip included several staples as well as hot fresh food. “And I picked up tea as well as real coffee.” With a sweep of his gaze, he seemed to read the room and diverted into the kitchen with her as Steve retreated to the table once more. Though Steve didn’t take a seat, he folded his arms and studied her, the weight of his gaze heavy across her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Clint as he set down two pastries, one a meat stuffed hot roll—but it was so much more and the scent alone had her mouth watering. The second was far sweeter, but it had always reminded her of pączki. Yes, he was definitely working overtime to apologize, so she nodded once to him before pouring hot water over the instant coffee. Yes, he’d purchased tea but she wanted her coffee now to go with her treats.

Tony edged into the kitchen from the other side, he and Steve keeping firmly on the opposite sides of the room. “You brought pastries?” The question was for Clint, but Tony was looking at her.

“They are more than pastries,” she told him, not bothering to disguise her delight. “They are heavenly confections, and old Girda a few blocks down makes the best ones.” The old woman was one of Nat’s favorite reasons to come to Vienna, and she’d been in and out of the pastry shop for years.

“It’s Hildie’s now,” Clint said, and some of Nat’s joy diminished. She turned, coffee in hand to watch Clint sort the supplies out. Milk, fruit, and yogurt into the fridge, with sandwich meats and cheeses. Fresh bread into the box, and canned goods into the cupboard. He gave her a sorrowful look. “She said Girda passed a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks before, but she’d been there…Nat’s appetite fled and she nodded. She’d been there when Nat was in Vienna for the signing, she’d dropped by for a quick minute, but she hadn’t had a lot of time after diverting to London for Peggy Carter’s funeral. She’d promised to return, and have tea with her. But then…

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Steve said quietly, but Nat buried it all and set the coffee down to take a bite of the meat pastry. It didn’t seem to taste as sweet anymore, or as rich. Hildie was a good girl, but she wasn’t her grandmother.

“Such is life, she lived a good one,” Nat said, then took a drink of the coffee more to keep any emotion from choking with the food as she swallowed it. “She was ninety-six and ran her own shop since before the war, and she never evacuated. I think her favorite tales were those she told about smuggling.” And one of Nat’s favorite things about Girda, she never shied from doing what she thought was right no matter what it was.

Setting her pastries on a small plate, Nat set it on top of her coffee cup, before carrying both along with her gun back to the table. Tony edged into the kitchen and checked out the food as Clint fished out the proper coffee maker and got it brewing. Economical movements marked Clint’s actions while Tony poked at the food—while still wearing his gauntlet. Steve leaned against the doorframe, and continued to watch her.

Nat packed away her feelings. Food and coffee, then explanations. If she didn’t get any, she was going to bed.

It took the three men a minute, but soon they all had cups of coffee—even Steve who didn’t typically drink it—and pastries. Clint dropped into the chair nearest her, and hooked his foot under the rungs of her chair. Tony stayed in the kitchen as Steve retreated to the chair he’d occupied before. It wasn’t until Nat finished her pączki that Tony edged out to join.

The drag of the silence, their body postures, and the way Clint kept firmly placed himself at her side and slightly behind—he had her back—said they were here for far more than a random reunion. “So…” she began, tapping the sides of her coffee mug. “Alien invasion? Dimension hopping? Superbots bent on global domination? Enhanced gone crazy?” Something had gotten them all together. Neither Steve nor Tony were forthcoming with an answer, but more interesting was the struggle playing out in their expressions. Tony was usually better at burying his discomforts by getting louder and more irritating, and Steve far more direct rather than hesitating as they both were.

How bad was it?

“You,” Clint said, quietly when the other two didn’t leap in to answer the question. “We’re here because this is where you are.”

Her stomach bottomed out, but years of training and discipline kept her hands steady and her expression placid. “I’m fine, so if you were merely concerned—you don’t have to be. I’ve been on my own before. I can handle it.” Clint bumped her chair lightly with his foot. Likely she’d just earned another scolding, he never cared for her dismissiveness when it came to having a support structure.

And she’d listened to him, she’d embraced one for years—look how well that turned out. No, far better to be on her own.

“Nat…”

“Tasha…”

It would almost be funny except for how pained both Steve and Tony looked as they spoke over each other. Yet, despite a quick shared glower in the other’s direction, they both paused as if allowing the other to go.

Wow. What the hell had gotten them to this armed truce state? As much as she didn’t want to curious, she was almost dying to know. A sip of her coffee, the bitterness on her tongue curbing any impulsive decisions.

“Stark, you go first.” Clint said rather arbitrarily when it became clear neither man was going to speak.

“Why me? Why not you?” The billionaire countered. “You’re the BFF, I’m sure you have lots to say.”

“And I have and I will, but that’s for Nat and me.” His relaxed manner and easy posture probably gave them the impression that Clint was wholly satisfied. But Nat knew him better. He possessed the patience of a thousand saints and he could wait out anyone—even her, as annoying as it could be, and he’d already made his position clear. Their talk was coming, she knew it. He knew it.

“Fine, I’m here Agent Romanoff…”

“I’m not an agent anymore, Mr. Stark.” If he wanted to fall back onto last names and titles, so could she. His eyes narrowed and then like flipping a switch, he smirked.

“You haven’t called me Mr. Stark since you stabbed me in the neck. Good times.”

Nat didn’t roll her eyes, but she did shake her head. Genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist she had long since learned how to deal with. “Are you dying this time?”

“No,” he said, his smirk vanishing.

“Then no reason to visit old times.” Her gaze locked on his and she raised an eyebrow. Did he disagree or not?

With a half nod, he leaned forward in the chair, then cleared his throat. “Nat…not sure you’ve been watching the news, but T’Challa’s changed his tune and I know he’s dropped any charges of you violating the Accords. Ross still has a bug up his ass, but I’m working on that. I can work out a deal for you—get you back home.”

Despite all the earnestness, that was not what Tony had come to say. Nor a reason to seek out Clint and track her down.

“Maybe…” Tony continued, with a flick of his gaze to Steve before returning to her. “Maybe get all of you home. Not sure what it will take, maybe some house arrest and freedom to do missions, but at least you’d be home.”

Was he really making the offer for Steve? But sure, she’d play along for the moment. “Like Wanda?” Hopefully Steve would keep his cool, but the harsh intake of breath suggested he might not. Clint didn’t move, and Nat didn’t turn her head to check his expression. Instead, she kept the whole of her focus on Tony.

“Yes and no, Wanda was a special case and we both know it. She wasn’t a citizen, and the committee were already talking about just locking her up before the Accords were even agreed on by all the member nations. Keeping her at the Compound and out of sight, meant I could shield her from any potential black bag scoop jobs.”

“Did you know about the Raft?” Nat would bet every inch of the black column in her ledger Tony hadn’t known.

To her left, Steve stared intently from her to Tony. But Tony didn’t look at him, he kept his attention on her. “You know I didn’t.”

“I thought I did…but I also didn’t think I’d have to run from Iron Man.” Yeah, that was low.

“Iron Man didn’t chase you. Nor did I throw you into the side of a luggage loader, or try to break your arm or leave you behind to face a very pissed off cat.”

Clint stiffened along with Steve.

“But in the interest of transparency since Katniss and Spangles weren’t present for the conversation,” Tony continued, irritation at her rolling off him in waves. “I’ll repeat what I said the first time we discussed what the hell was going to happen after Wilson and Rogers intercepted Barnes in Berlin. There would be _consequences_ , not internment. Not incarceration without trials, and sure as hell no electric shock collars or locked away in a top-secret underwater prison. Jesus, I didn’t even know they had that thing.” His voice heated with every syllable. Piss Tony Stark off and he never shied away from the truth. “I was thinking ankle monitors and the equivalent of writing a thousand sentences of _I will not violate the Accords._ ”

“I never took you for that much of an optimist,” Nat said, tilting her head to the side even as she smiled faintly. “Ross built the Raft years ago. Right after the incident at Culver University and Harlem just cemented it.”

“Did SHIELD know about it?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Clint answered before she could. “Nat and I have both been there before.”

Tony frowned. “Did they lock you up there, Red?”

Nat laughed, “No. We were there as part of a security test and inspection because it was being repurposed from containment to holding for extraordinary individuals too dangerous to be held on land.”

“Like Wanda?” Someday, the shine of Steve’s idealism might be tarnished. Nat hoped she never lived to see it.

“If Wanda were still the girl allied with Ultron,” Nat said, not missing a beat. “Yes.” Anger flared in Steve’s eyes, and Nat cocked her head, undeterred. “Steve, she took down all of us, set Hulk on a rampage that demolished a huge chunk of a city, and there were many injured and more than a few deaths that Bruce had to live with after. Deaths he blamed himself for.”

His mouth tightened, because he couldn’t deny the charge, but he still had to argue. “She was just a kid—she’s still a kid.”

“I killed my first mark when I was nine,” she told him honestly. “But that was not the first person I killed. Being a child is not an excuse. Wanda has tremendous power, power she barely understood and had a very difficult time handling—especially when she was emotional. And she has been nothing but emotional. Her parents, her homelessness, volunteering for the experimentation, fighting us, then realizing she’d allied herself with a monster, Pietro’s death, and then what happened in Nigeria.” Nat ticked them off, one by one. “You can say she’s just a kid all you want, it doesn’t absolve her. I told her she needed to be aware all the time, I pushed for it, I pushed her. I spent months on that training…”

Now Steve looked away.

“But no amount of training can balance real world experience. She reacted, and she reacted badly. Now if she hadn’t contained Rumlow and his suicide bomb—it might have killed far more than the dozen in that building. But it doesn’t change that fact that those twelve people are dead. That more died because she set loose the Hulk, and that it left only Tony and Clint to mop up the damage--- _we_ were down. So yes, a place like the Raft is necessary in some cases. Just like sending an operative with a kill order is.”

Chewing his lip, Steve glared into the distance but she suspected his anger was at the situation more than at her. Finally, he said, “You told me she wasn’t field ready.”

It seemed almost surreal, but she’d made a point and now ran the risk of him turning the blame all on himself. “Steve, what I said was she wasn’t field _tested_.”

“But Sokovia…I thought after it…”

“Sokovia was survival, pure and simple,” Clint said quietly. “There was a moment…she was huddled inside a house, hiding. The fear got her. It gets everyone. I told her…she could stay there, she could keep hiding and I’d send her brother to get her. We’d evacuate her with the rest of the civilians, but if she got up—if she walked out those doors, she was an Avenger.” He didn’t have to add what she’d done.

The silence stretched out, and Tony sighed, “So maybe we all let her down. She needed more than to just be thrust out in the field—especially if she was trying to make up for her past.” Tony’s gaze rested on Nat.

“Maybe,” Steve conceded, and in a rare show of solidarity between them since Ultron, he added. “Maybe we all needed to take a minute, and talk more—to each other or to someone.”

The détente released some of the tension in the air.

“Talking is overrated,” Nat said with a grin as she pushed away from the table. Standing, she fought a grimace as her stitches pulled in protest against her stiff muscles. “We should probably all have drunk more.”

Clint followed her as she carried her plate back to the kitchen, but this time she left her gun at the table. The other was over the fridge. She had both. He nodded to the box of pastries, but she shook her head.

“Point of order, Nat,” Tony announced. “I drank plenty. Didn’t do much to improve it all.”

With a chuckle, she put a hand on his shoulder as she returned to the table. “You doing okay?” One thing about Tony Stark, at least she’d been able to see some of his recovery when he’d been on the news.

He brushed her fingers with his own. “Yeah, and we still have a lot to talk about.”

After squeezing his shoulder once, she withdrew the contact and collected her gun. “I’m going to guess none of you are leaving.” It wasn’t a question, and three male gazes staring at her blandly told her as much. “Figured. I need sleep, I haven’t had any in…a few days.” She also had work to do.

“You’re probably already working on some other plan, Red. We’ve all figured that out.” Tony pushed his chair back and stood. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

Steve nodded. “You’re still going after Hydra, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” she deflected. “They haven’t elected to monologue their name or intentions. It’s not a group operation, nor open for discussion until I’ve slept. Staying here is not likely safe for any of you despite the name. If you haven’t heard there’s an international manhunt for me.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but it was Tony who chuckled, “Red, the only guy I know who has _ever_ caught you is standing in the kitchen. I think we’re safe. Go sleep, I’ll fix your bites, then you and me, we need to talk.”

“As do we,” Steve said, not missing the opportunity. “Clint and I can take the other room.”

That would leave Stark in the living room, and he didn’t seem to mind, not that he slept much. But if she knew Clint, he wouldn’t be bunking with Rogers.

“Fine, we’ll figure it out tomorrow morning. Don’t go out, keep away from the windows and keep the blinds closed. No one lives on this level, so if you hear anything in the hall, be wary.”

“I can rig something to give us an early warning,” Tony said, and then he shocked her when he gave her a hug, his embrace careful of her. Nat didn’t move, not even when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Go get some sleep, Red. We’ll watch your back.”

Then he grabbed his coffee and retreated to the living room. Steve wore a small frown, but he smiled at her. “Go on, get some sleep.”

 _Yeah, I don’t want to try and figure this all out now._ It might have been her exhaustion talking, but she was suddenly just raw all over. Pivoting, she walked back to her bedroom, gun in one hand and a knife in the other. She’d put one under the pillow and the other on the nightstand.

After brushing her teeth, she crawled between the sheets. Fatigue weighed heavy on every part of her. Sleep had been fleeting in the last few weeks, stealing an hour or two without letting herself go to deep. She could do that for a few weeks at a time, but she was perilously close to her own limits. The door to the bedroom opened, then closed softly. The hushed steps crossing the room to the bathroom were as familiar to her as her own.

The water kicked on, and she shut her eyes. Movement had her blinking a short time later, as the blanket pulled back and a familiar hand brushed her back. “Just me, Tash. Sleep.”

Clint. Her brain recognized him, sorted him into the safe category and she tumbled into deeper sleep without another thought.


	12. Did you model in Tokyo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the night, Tony and Nat finally talk.

Chapter Twelve

_Did you model in Tokyo?_

Tony

 

 

Tony slept—briefly—somewhere between two and four. He thought it might have been thirty minutes, could have been a bit longer. His brain remained fuzzy. It shouldn’t have surprised him he couldn’t simply fall asleep with Rogers sleeping just down the hall. Not five minutes after Natasha stumbled off to her bedroom, Clint had followed her.

It bothered him some how Nat had moved, exhaustion seemed to rough away her almost effortless grace. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn she stumbled. Maybe it was why Clint followed her so swiftly. The man wore a stellar poker face, but since returning from his shopping excursion, he’d been tracking every move she’d made and settled himself firmly at her side, and slightly behind.

Even Rogers picked up on the body language. No matter what Tony or Steve wanted, Clint would back whatever play Nat made. If she didn’t want to talk, they’d have had to deal with Clint. If she’d wanted to leave, Tony suspected Clint would have gone with her.

When the archer followed her into the bedroom, and closed the door, the shower had kicked on. Alone with Rogers, Tony had stared into his coffee cup. Barton sleeping in Nat’s room didn’t mean a damn thing—the man was married. All those things he used to think about their relationship had gone up in smoke when he’d been introduced to the Barton farm. Still…

A part of him wished it had been Tony, or that she hadn’t been so tired she needed to sleep. The dark smudges beneath her eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks, and the littering of bruises he’d seen over her legs, chest, and abdomen kept him silent on that regard. He’d damn near swallowed his tongue when he’d seen Nat sitting on that counter in a bra and pants, beaten and bandaged, but beautiful despite it all.

“Guess I’ll catch some sleep unless you want me to keep watch.” Steve had offered, and Tony’s resentment flared.

“I’ll be up a while,” Tony told him. “Still have to fix Nat’s bites.” Though they were mostly done, and he was damn glad he decided to check the wiring. He hadn’t had a good look at them in about three months—the last time they’d been broken on a mission. She had a backup pair at the Tower he’d been tinkering with to upgrade, he needed to pull those out of storage. Her suit, too. She needed something to absorb more of the kinetic energy in the blows, or maybe diffuse them to reduce the impact.

On skill alone she walked away from a bombing, a grenade, and eleven armed men trying to kill her. But she looked like she’d been through the war and bruises _hurt_. They could also stiffen and limit mobility. The sight of so many injuries left him reconsidering his earlier theory, but he hadn’t dismissed it entirely.

“You don’t get a lot of sleep,” Steve had said quietly, reminding Tony he hadn’t left and the fact startled him a moment. Largely because he’d forgotten Steve was there, and it wasn't typical of him.

Huh.

“No, but that’s normal. Go on Rogers, old men need their rest, or they get crotchety.” The words slipped out effortlessly and without a tinge of bitterness. Steve just shook his head, then stood.

All the hair on Tony’s neck stood up, he was between the super soldier and the bedrooms. A shield crashing down into his chest—once, twice, and then a shattering feeling as his suit turned into pure deadweight trapping him. Ice. Cold.

Rogers didn’t move, and Tony exhaled a harsh breath. With far more calm than he truly experienced, Tony eased away from the table and took his coffee cup with him. Nat’s bottle of vodka still sat prominently on the island. The kitchen offered a retreat out of Rogers’ direct path, so Tony walked in there like he meant it and claimed the vodka bottle by its neck.

Another long moment passed, and he swore he could feel the weight of Rogers’ regard. Internally, a mantra kicked in as Tony made a show of considering the vodka. Putting on a show was something he knew all about. Toss back a drink, laugh a little louder, shrug off the criticisms, ignore the blare of the lights, the viperous comments whispered around the edges and pretend you don’t give a damn because in the end giving a damn really fucking hurts.

Once upon a time Bruce had been stunned SHIELD included Steve Rogers on a threat list to be monitored and Romanoff—some of the tension cording Tony’s spine bled off a fraction—Romanoff shrugged and said “All of us are.”

Tony, Nat and Barton were included in the same breath one said Rogers, Banner, and Thor.

All of them were threats.

Setting down the bottle of vodka, Tony could breathe and when he glanced to his left, Steve had gathered his special collection of books and bag, and had gone. Lowering his forehead to the bottle top, Tony let it rest there and concentrated on getting his heart to stop racing and his breath to come a little deeper.

“You okay, Boss?” Friday’s Irish lilt whispered in his ear as if worried about disturbing him. The earpiece attached neatly behind his earlobe and remained almost invisible. It let Friday monitor him, and would be ideal for summoning his suit. If his vitals dropped off or the power cut out, the Friday would react accordingly. Protocols overlaying more protocols.

Siberia would never happen again.

Breathing more regulated, Tony said, “No, but I’m getting there. Status?”

“Sixty-one percent, Boss, moving faster now. Estimated time to completion eight hours.”

Eight hours. So by dawn. Good. He wanted to be ready for whatever they needed to do. Nat was—God he didn’t know what she was, but he knew he had to be prepared for whatever would be thrown at them next. She wouldn’t have to fight off anyone on her own, no matter how much she didn’t _need_ him to survive, he didn’t want to see her face that.

Only after he’d slid the vodka back into the freezer and washed up the dishes from their makeshift dinner, then brewed a fresh pot of coffee did he return to the living room and the bites.

When he fell asleep, he’d been reworking the design specs for Nat’s suit while seated on the floor, legs stretched under the coffee table. The soft sound of a door closing down the hall pulled him awake. Adrenaline flooded his system, and the band on his wrist stretched to encase his whole hand, the gauntlet had more than a single use in it. The program he’d set to monitor the hall beyond the apartment showed nothing, then Nat was there, standing in the hallway entrance to the living room. Hair sleep tousled and her expression raw, almost exposed, Tony forgot to breathe. Never had he seen her so vulnerable, so open, or troubled. It fisted around his heart and kept him silent, not daring to comment or risk her in this state.

 _I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We’re a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We’re a time-bomb._ Bruce’s words whispered from the hellicarrier all those years ago.

He dropped his gauntleted hand and locked gazes with her. Awareness swarmed through her green eyes, and she blew out a breath. The mask of calm rippling across her expression reminded him of the way he’d designed his new armor to expand, and flow over him.

Even more effective than his own, her expression shielded her mind and her heart more effectively than his did his body. Deception. Lies. Lies within lies. All a part of the chemical composition of how she protected herself.

Suddenly, he forgave her every moment. Beneath the hardened shell existed a far more fragile and beautiful thing, and he wanted to protect her, too.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Then she pushed a hand through her hair, it had begun to riot into curls. It had been wet when she’d gone to bed and dried in a dizzying array, spilling over her shoulders and giving her a far more youthful and less polished appearance when coupled with her face stripped of all cosmetics.

“It’s okay,” he told her, meaning it. The gauntlet reduced back to a band on his wrist before he reached up to close the screen with her suit on it. Then he stood, motioning to her bites. “They’re done, you can test them when you’re ready.”

She was still dressed in that ribbed, clingy tank top and slightly too big for her pair of boxer shorts. Somehow, she was far lovelier than she’d been when she walked into his Malibu mansion all those years ago.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice huskier if possible and it sent a tingle down his back. “I’m…” She motioned to the kitchen, and he nodded. Then scooped up his nearly empty coffee mug with its cold dregs and followed after. The sleep fogging his brain cleared away. In the half dark of the kitchen with only the low light from the living room to trace after her like following a liquid shadow, she took the electric kettle and refilled it with water. Tony watched her from the corner of his eye as he started a fresh pot of coffee.

They worked in silence, moving around each other like it’s just another day at the tower where he’s stumbled out of his lab and found her in the kitchen as she often was after a…

“Bad dream?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet.

A shrug of her shoulder, then a wince. Yes, her injuries. He traced his gaze down to her legs, the right leg catching more light, and the deep purple bruise of her knee from the night before seems less. Gone was one of the stripes across her thigh, and when she turned to take tea from a container, the mark on her right shoulder had also vanished.

Healed.

“Want to talk about it?” He always asked, and most times she said no.

“Nothing to talk about,” she said, quietly. “It was New York.” Tony didn’t flinch. They shared a lot of nightmares about New York, one of the few they did talk about. His about the portal, and hers—hers about failing to close it or about Loki getting the upper hand or really, just about every other way it could have all gone wrong.

Woman had a really creative mind when it came to absolute shit fallout.

“Then it was Sokovia…and finally Leipzig. All messed up.” She ran a hand over her face and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream.”

Kind of like the Avengers, he almost said, but for once didn’t try to make a smart retort. “Yeah,” he said instead, and leaned against the counter. “Are you okay?”

“No.” The barest hints of a smile touching her lips. “Always. You?”

The word provoked a memory, after Barnes’ breakout, his arm numb and hurting—Natasha bruised and battered, but she’d put her hand on his shoulder and she’d _cared_ to ask. “No,” he echoed her. “But I’m getting there.”

They went quiet again as she brewed her tea and he fixed his coffee. Then Tony motioned her back out to the living room. They settled on the sofa and he offered her the blanket he hadn’t been using. Curled up in the corner, blanket over her lap with the mug of tea clenched in her hands, she still seemed almost too pale despite her expressionless mask. Maybe it was the small smile of thanks she cast him.

It wrapped them in this sense of this almost overwhelming intimacy, not unlike all those nights at 3 a.m. in the tower’s kitchen when he’d settle on the chair next to hers and they’d drink—him coffee and her tea, sometimes both of them with glasses of liquor, and they’d just be. She never made demands on him, and he never felt compelled to burden her, and yet when he’d finally stagger away to the penthouse to sleep and she went down to the gym, he always felt a little lighter, a little better.

“Why are you here, Tony?” The soft question he’d expected came a little sooner than he anticipated, but then they were both up and alone.

Coffee mug set aside, he reached over to the 3-D screens and flicked open a new screen, then a blue light appeared on a small device sitting in the middle of the coffee table. “There, muted,” he told her, but he still kept his voice low in that middle of the night was the time for confessions tone he used. “Our voices won’t wake anyone up.”

Which was important, he didn’t want Barton or Rogers walking out to interrupt them. He’d failed to get a moment alone with her after they’d come into the apartment, Steve glued to her every movement and that book never far from his hand. It was probably a good thing Steve had taken his things to his room or Tony might have opened the book to see what was so goddamned important in it.

“Okay,” she said, then took a sip of tea accepting him at his word.

“I’m here because I need to say I’m sorry.” The words push out before the lump can close his throat. The words apologize and sorry were not words he embraced or used much. He used to say them to his mom, but she always waved them off. “Don’t say you’re sorry, dear. Just don’t do it again.” Mom had always been big on actions more than words. So Tony embraced actions, but some people liked the words.

Nat stared at him, her eyes almost dark green in the light, unfathomable and mysterious. The shadows in them, they kept her secrets and he couldn’t look away.

“I’m—sorry about what happened with the Accords, with Leipzig…what I said to you after.”

“I betrayed you,” she told him. “I let them go.” No offers of mitigation, just simple facts.

“And you’d do it again if you had to do it over,” Tony said, finally accepting that Nat had acted in accordance to her conscience.

Her gaze went distant, and he had to admit, her hesitation proved mildly gratifying. “Maybe,” she finally conceded. “Maybe.”

“Why only maybe?” Okay, he shouldn’t push. Really. She was sitting there on the sofa, right in his line of sight. She was weary and soft in a way he’d never really seen her except post end of apocalyptic battle—and frankly she’d had more composure after New York and Ultron put together—than she did at the moment. Most of all she was alive and _talking_ to him. But he pushed. Because he was him. “You said we played it wrong.”

“We did play it wrong,” she told him, gaze flicking back to him. “We overreacted… _all_ of us.” The meaning of all wasn’t lost on him. “We acted on our guilt, our shame, and our fear. A bad combination when you have a group of overpowered individuals with messy pasts.”

He lifted his coffee mug, and nodded to her. “I’ll give you that. They were…”

She held up a hand and he hushed. “I’m not going to argue the Accords with you. It’s a lot like mutually assured destruction for both of us.”

“Agreed,” he said immediately. She wasn’t wrong.

“But Steve wasn’t going to stop unless we really hurt him and T’Challa really wanted to kill Barnes, and Steve would have gotten in the way.” Though she preached to the choir there, he could see it. Tony had really wanted to kill Barnes, too. “And more people were going to get hurt.”

“So you let them go.” The inevitable conclusion, Nat weighed the cost versus the advantages, and made a decision.

“Yeah and Rhodey got hurt anyway…that’s on me.” The moment she echoed his very uncharitable earlier thought on the subject, Tony’s spine stiffened.

“Bullshit,” he snapped out. “Just—bullshit.” Reaching across the sofa, he took her hand. “Rhodey got hurt, and I’m never going to forgive myself for that. And you know—yeah, you let them go. I was chasing them, Rhodey was chasing them and Sam was after Rhodey. Rhodey called for Vision to take the shot, and Vision was _distracted_. The most powerful AI, cybernetic form ever, and he was distracted by a girl.” It would almost be laughable if not so tragic. “So it’s not on you—not when you didn’t want to even be there in the first place.”

“Tony,” she said, so gently as if he were a man on the edge and she squeezed his fingers ever so lightly but didn’t pull away. “I’m the one who tracked them to the airport.”

Which she had…how had she done that?

“A girl has to keep some of her secrets,” she answered before he could even ask the question.

“Maybe…I worried at first it was a set up, you know.” The admission poured out like lancing a badly infected wound. It stunk, and made his eyes sting. “That you had been on Rogers’ side all along.”

“I think the double agent comment made that clear.” Light, almost too light, and her tone held no heat, but he winced anyway. “When did you change your mind?”

Stroking his thumb over the tips of her fingers, he studied the contrast between their hands. Hers looked so damn delicate, smaller than his—maybe smaller than Pepper’s (and he pushed comparing them right the fuck back out of his head)—but fine boned, almost tiny like her and yet, he’d seen what her hands could do. Small did not equal to lack of power, not in any measure of the equation.

“Siberia,” he told her, almost not quite wanting to meet her eyes. He didn't want to see he was wrong in them, he knew he wasn’t. He knew she came, but he didn't want to confront some ineffable proof that he’d dreamed the whole thing up and he was unavoidably damaged.

The latter would be true regardless of her answer.

“I didn’t think you were aware enough to remember, you were badly hurt.” Just like that all the painful knots of worry began to ease. She had come.

“You came.”

“Of course, I came. You went to help them. Why would you think no one would come to help you?” Her tone carried an element of chastisement within it, and if he were ten years younger or maybe a hell of a lot less cynical, he’d have ducked his head and mumbled something.

As it was, he’d tasted betrayal on so many fronts it left him jaded. “Because I’m me.” He doesn’t mean it with any amount of self-pitying or self-loathing bullshit. It was just a damn fact.

The corners of her mouth tipped down, and she loosened her fingers from his much to his almost immediate disappointment then stretched across the space separating them to cup his cheek. “You’re an idiot, Tony Stark.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, with a grin.

“You need to be told it much more frequently so it sticks.” Then she traced the line of his cheekbone. The skin there had healed, knitted together with some help from the new nano tech he’d been working on. The thin scar was barely noticeable and would fade eventually, or at least be something he could make up stories about during parties. But the skin itself was still tender, nevertheless, he didn’t pull away.

“Well you had better stick around then, because I need more people to remind me.” It was only half-true. She didn’t have to do a damn thing for him if she merely stuck around.

“I’m going to make more tea…” Withdrawing her hand, she broke the moment and he fought the need to drag her back, desperate to not lose it. “Want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, but I’ll come.” Then he caught her hand held it, instead of letting her pick up his mug and took his mug in the other hand. Nat gave him a curious look, but she didn’t pull her hand away until they reached the kitchen and she needed to check the kettle. Then they busied themselves with their tasks, well Natasha did because she had to brew the tea and strain it and do a series of steps that seemed to be a lot of work for one hot drink. He merely filled his cup with coffee. At the rate he was drinking it, he might owe Barton for another pound or two.

And though he and Nat were together in the kitchen, it seemed a far cry from the quiet they shared on the sofa. Almost a go back to their own corners—even at the tower, in those many shared moments in the dark of the night, they hadn’t let themselves be this open with each other.

At least he hadn’t thought so, then again, he’d been drunk on a few of those nights and so had she. Nat made for a good person to get drunk with, even when she didn’t share her bottle. But the point, he wandered back around to as his mind continued running a dozen different directions from the specs on the armor, to the fact he was in Vienna and avoiding all things Ross and the UN to the woman standing in front of him—the _point_ was he didn’t want to spoil the mood or risk pushing her away when they’d just found her.

It was all too precious and fragile yet.

“You’re thinking really hard over there Tony,” Nat said, the silk of amusement gliding beneath the words. It was just so damn _her_. “You know better than to do that on so little sleep.”

“Pfft.” With a dismissive wave, he gave her a baleful look. “I do my best work sleep deprived, I solved miniaturizing an arc reactor in a cave while attached to a car battery.”

“Oh, that old chestnut.” The corners of her lips twitched. “Next you’re going to tell me you fought off a god, repaired a falling hellicarrier, repelled an alien invasion, and a nuke shot at us by our own people after cramming thermo-nuclear-physics all night.”

“Well, I did three of those things—you closed the portal, so I’ll have to share that credit.”

“Generous,” she grinned and his smile grew.

“Maybe two, you were the one trying to fly without a suit.” _Insane, beautiful, brave, and absolutely terrifying woman._ Though he left the last few words unsaid.

“Trying?” She sniffed, almost disdainful though her smile didn’t fade for a moment. “I believe I succeeded.” She set aside the spoon, her tea ready and cradled the mug in her hands as she faced him.

“That you did, Red. That you did.” He didn’t bother to disguise his admiration. “Not the way I would have done it….but you did do it.”

“Well we didn’t have time for the cave.”

And the short, sharp laugh that escapes him began to crumble the rusty chains locking his chest. Once the first laugh was out, the next became a chuckle, and then it grew.

Nat lifted her eyebrows though her eyes remained amused.

“I think we should add cave trolling to all future endeavors.”

Then they were both laughing, and trying to be quiet about it but it didn’t lessen their mirth. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders—and he’d be damned but she let him—, he guided her back to the sofa. They were still chuckling as he set his mug aside and took a moment to cover her legs with the blanket before he retreated to his side of the sofa.

Gradually, the humor having worked like a balm over all those broken parts and maybe it hadn’t healed anything, but it sure as hell didn’t sting so damn badly. Then she shoved her cold feet under his leg and he stared at her. “Jesus woman.” He took a moment set aside his mug then put his warm hands on her feet, and damn if they weren’t ice. “You ever hear of socks?”

With a careless shrug that lead to a wince, she grimaced. “Sorry, I can…”

“No,” he told her not missing the flash of pain the shrug earned and keeping his grip on them before wrapping the blanket around them and tucking them back under his thigh. “Just—be careful where you put them. I don’t want anything to fall off.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “Tony?”

“Yeah, Red?”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes burned for a sec. “It’s okay. I can get over my ego.” He gave it a beat because, well yeah that had hurt at the time, but not so much now. “Not far over…it’s a big trip considering.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, and he grinned. The silence warmed around them, filled with possibility and comfort rather than emptiness and regrets. It took him a minute to realize he’d been resting his hand on her leg and she’d been allowing it.

“Hey Red?”

“Yeah, Tony?”

“Would it completely step on our moment if I ask you a personal question?”

She leaned a little into the back of the sofa, still facing him as she sits sideways, legs extended toward him. Outside, the night stretched out while inside the quiet remained. “You can ask,” she granted. “I’m not going to promise to answer.”

“That’s—fair.” Not that she needed his agreement on that front. The modulator he had running kept the sound from traveling so not even super soldier ears would pick up their conversation, and Tony wanted to keep it that way. “I’ve been doing some research…you know, I started a little after—” He motioned to his neck like giving an injection. “Took a bit to get over it.”

“I’m aware.” Her expression remained placid.

“And it helped, which was the intention—well Fury’s intention, though now that I think about it, it might not have been Fury so much as the others at SHIELD and he was just setting me up to be in a position to owe something if it did work and I figured it out.”

“You’re rambling,” she said softly.

“Yeah, but I wanted it to be clear that helpful or not, I saved me.”

Understanding flickered in those green eyes and she inclined her head. “Accepted.”

“Good. But you fascinated me…you know…from the moment you showed up.” Why the fuck was he dancing around the question? How hard was it to ask? “Especially after the Happy thing. Happy was pretty sore about it, until you two went to Hammer Tech, and then…he didn’t feel so bad about your TKO.” Still he rambled, and though her lips twitched, she didn’t say a word. “But I saw some of the footage and you were…amazing. Then of course, you fixed Rhodey’s suit.”

And for a long moment, they just stared at each other.

She saved Rhodey for him then and Tony was grateful for that.

She couldn’t save Rhodey at Leipzig and Tony understood that.

If she could, she would save Rhodey and Tony both, or individually and he believed that.

Tony needed her to know he would do all of the above for her, too.

No words are necessary, it just felt like they were having that moment Harley talked about, only far more genuine.

“You already thanked me for that, Stark.” She used his last name, a little verbal jab to get it together and allowing them both some emotional distance from a too close moment.

“I did…didn’t I?” He could accept that. “But I researched you and I might have lifted some files back when I hacked SHIELD.”

Again, nothing changed in her expression, she just tilted her head and waited him out.

“Then you know, you put your file out there.” Nothing he said surprised her and for a moment, he realized she expected him to read it all. Expected he would have dissected every word because he was him and he liked to know things. No, he needed to know things. And she didn’t appear bothered by it, and yeah, okay it was fair she thought he would because he had and for all the reasons she could list, and yet, he wanted her to think better of him than that.

And now his thoughts were rambling.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his gaze to his coffee and put the words together in his mind. Would she tell him about the Red Room? He hadn’t been able to find much. What he had uncovered made him very uncomfortable. Did she have the super soldier enhancements? He’d done some research. What Loki said to her, about her ledger, and the things she’d done—why had she done them? Most of all, would she come back with him and let him try to make this right, and maybe, just maybe, would she work with him to fix everything the way they’d discussed before it all went to hell?

He wanted to know. God, he wanted to know it all. And in the same breath, those answers worried him. More, her refusal to answer and maybe push him away entirely terrified him.

So what he finally asked was, “Did you really model in Tokyo?”


	13. Pulling on a Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn finds Steve and Natasha confronting each other over their choices, and Steve wants answers.

Chapter Thirteen

_Pulling on a Thread_

Steve

 

After Tasha stumbled off with Clint in close pursuit, Steve elected to slide off to the free bedroom and leave Tony alone. Tony’s tension couldn’t be missed, and no matter how he wanted to approach the situation, he had to admit Steve had done that to his friend for another friend. Every time he tried to form the words for an apology, or to even broach the subject with the engineer, his throat locked and nothing came out.

Then there was Tasha. The distance in her eyes, and her manner—it was like all the years they’d worked together as partners at SHIELD, then later leading and training the New Avengers had never happened. Damn if the remoteness didn’t hurt like hell. From the moment he approached Clint to go find her, he’d had a thousand questions. That evening, sitting in the Vienna safehouse he had only one and he couldn’t verbalize it. Not with Tony and Clint sitting right there.

Worse, Tasha gave him no openings. When she’d put a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder, Steve hated himself for the flare of jealousy it ripped through him. Jealous she touched Stark when she didn’t even drift in Steve’s direction. Jealous Tony accepted the contact with grace from her when he retreated and kept his distance from Steve because he was afraid of him.

Afraid of _Steve._ He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea at all. Not one iota. People weren’t _afraid_ of him. He’d always been the scrawny kid getting his ass kicked in the back alleys and side streets of Brooklyn. He’d had asthma, and struggled with the cold temps during the winter, and people knocked him aside or dismissed him. Even Phillips hadn’t taken him seriously when Erskine finally blessed him with an acceptance in the military after so many rejections.

Studying his hands, Steve couldn’t reconcile how he’d become someone who _terrified_ a man he’d called friend. The serum changed a lot of things, but he hadn’t dreamed it could do this.

_And yet it became about Bucky…_ If there had been any other way, but Stark had only wanted to lash out in his renewed grief with fresh anger at the man who’d been used to kill his parents. Steve understood, he wished like hell it could have just been some drone who’d done it and Tony could have gotten some measure of closure—he needed to shut down that train of thought. In truth, he'd lost the right to it.

A shower and fresh boxers couldn’t erase the sick feeling in his gut. Nor the tension cording his spine. A part of him wanted to press right into the room where Tasha was sleeping and rouse her. He needed to talk to her now…

But she was exhausted, so very pale, and hurt. The bandages on her side had covered a lengthy area, and the bruises littering her skin served as a testament to the truly bad time she’d been having.

_Because she let me go._ His guilt nagged at him, yet another part of him had to wonder if Ross wouldn’t have found another way to go after her. For all that he was a fugitive along with Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Scott and Clint—their faces weren’t on the news every day. Even in Wakanda he’d seen the reports, and T’Challa had mentioned the rather persistent number of times her name had been mentioned in meetings and briefings. In fact, it had been due to this he’d withdrawn his claim of misconduct on her part, but he felt it was to no avail.

Clearly, someone wanted Natasha. But did they want her because of the Avengers? Or because of her past? Which brought him to the conundrum of having not read her file. The file Tony told him he’d had purged from the net, and set in place protocols to destroy any other uploads as they appeared. Steve had never wanted to read her file before, Nat was the woman he fought alongside, his friend, partner, and… someone he cared about. She could tell him what he needed to know.

These were all truths, until he found her name in Bucky’s journal. If it had been one time, fine, yes—they’d had encounters. Bucky had shot her. Steve closed his eyes and swallowed hard, he kept trying to brush all of that off. Bucky had fought Steve, too and he’d shot him, but it hadn’t been Bucky.

For Steve—Bucky Barnes had been his best friend. They’d known each other for nearly twenty years when he lost Bucky on the train. Twenty years of history, memories, and friendship.

Tony didn’t have that at all. He had a guy with a metal arm who killed his parents.

Natasha had something else entirely, she had a legend in the intelligence community, a ghost (or so she'd said) with a metal arm who’d tried to kill her at least twice, but had definitely shot her twice, and fought her three times.

They had no way of knowing Bucky.

Opening the second of Bucky’s journals, Steve stared at the most recent entry where he’d found her name. Or at least, he thought it referenced her… маленький паук pronounced malen'kiy pauk, he thought and the translation took a moment to find but Little Spider.

Little Spider.

There was great affection in the words on the page, descriptions of speed, grace, and cunning.

Bucky had always been a hit with the ladies, and maybe it translated to the Winter Soldier. To be honest, that opened an entirely uncomfortable area Steve didn’t want to explore. But he wanted to _ask_ Natasha. Had she known him? For how long? Why was she important to him?

_But is she important to him?_ All he had were the journals and Buck was stuck in that damn cryo chamber in Wakanda. It was where he wanted to be, he wanted to get well, to be himself—to be safe around other people.

Fingers curling, he dropped the book before he tore it. Agitation and adrenaline did not make for calming companions. Restlessness invaded his every cell, and he wanted to head out and run. If he couldn’t do that, maybe a few hours with a good punching bag. But that wasn’t an option either.

Sleep wouldn’t be coming any time soon, so he rolled onto the floor and started doing push ups.

Three hours later, he took another shower and fell back onto the bed. The pleasant burn in his muscles hopefully allowing him to sleep. Yet, it seemed no sooner did he close his eyes, then they snapped open again and he was awake. A check of his watch told him he had definitely slept, and thankfully he hadn’t dreamed even if it felt like nothing more than an eye blink. It was still early, barely six, though Steve normally roused earlier than that when he kept a schedule.

No matter how much he doesn’t want to disturb Tony, Steve cannot stay in the unfamiliar, empty little bedroom for another minute. Dressed in fresh clothes, he placed the journals back in the backpack, then carried it with him toward the kitchen. He doesn’t try to move too quietly—Nat might shoot him or Barton if he sounds like he’s sneaking—but he doesn’t try to make too much noise because Tony proved hyperaware and he doesn’t want to scare him.

But the lights on in the kitchen and front room let him know he wasn’t the first one awake. The scent of fresh coffee filled the air. Perched on the arm of the sofa, still wearing the tank top and boxers from the night before was Nat. Tony was sound asleep on his side, head lolled against the sofa half sitting up.

With a glance at Steve, she slid off the sofa and nodded to the kitchen. It was weird how all of his earlier irritation seemed to fade and ramp up at the same time, but he followed her.

“Hungry?” She had the fridge open, and the brightness from inside cast over her highlighting the mottling of her right knee and the other bruises over her legs. The ones on her arms seem to have faded. The scar on her left shoulder seemed almost silver in the glow.

“I could eat,” he answered, pitching his voice low as he was loathe to disturb Tony.

With very little deliberation, she removes the two boxes of pastries Clint returned with the evening before. “We can heat these easily,” she offered, already setting them out on a pan then sliding them in and turning on the oven. “It doesn’t take long. Coffee or tea? Tony made the coffee a couple of hours ago, but we could make fresh.” Like Steve, she kept her voice low and the huskiness of it wrapped around him with the familiarity of his favorite sweater.

God he’d missed just hanging out with Nat. Missed even more the ease between them, and despite her casual manner, nothing about this was easy.

“What are you having?” The moisture in his mouth seemed to have fled, and he tightened his grip on the backpack.

“Probably another cup of tea—it will be my third and then I’ll just drink water.” Was that regret in her tone? And she’d been awake long enough to have two cups of tea already?

“Do you want to go back to bed, Tasha? You were wiped last night.”

She offered a small shrug, carefully executed. “I woke up.”

And he had his answer. She’d had a nightmare. All those years of missions, and crashing in safehouses or sharing Tower space then later the Compound—Natasha had nightmares.

Sometimes terrible nightmares which seemed to hold her rigid and captive. What horrified him the most about those dreams was she didn’t cry out or moan—she was almost eerily silent even as her body shivered with tiny spasms, as though paralyzed and unable to move. Then she would jerk awake, pale, sweating, with her pupils blown and for those few split seconds upon waking, genuine fear would reflect upon her usually inscrutable expression. She never talked about them, not when they’d been curled together for body warmth, not when she’d snapped out of one while he recovered at the hospital, not when he’d spied her huddling on a sofa in the common room after one jerked her awake.

“Steve?” Natasha’s voice pulled him back to the present, and those green eyes that saw too much studied him.

“Tea,” he said.

“The same way as before?” The gentle, inoffensive question stung more than a verbal slap. How many cups of tea had they shared over the years? He knew how she took it. Had a chasm opened between them that she didn’t think they would ever be able to traverse?

It hurt, but Steve lifted his chin. No matter what, Natasha wasn’t his enemy now or ever. “You know, why don’t I try it like you do…you know with the jam.”

A hint of a smile touched her lips. “You don’t have to, I know you like it sweeter with a bit of milk.”

He almost wanted to say then why did you ask, but he kept the words to himself. “You know I like new experiences.”

With a hum of agreement, she pulled down another mug and took care of prepping the tea. Steve leaned against the wall, aware of how much she enjoyed this ritual. Her movements were still a little stiff and she definitely favored her left side, not reaching as far or lifting her arm as high. The limp from the night before seemed to have gentled, but she wasn’t moving around much.

The pastries she warmed in the oven released a delicious scent, and while he didn’t usually eat meat pastries for breakfast, his stomach had no objections. Unsurprisingly Nat prepared two plates and she put most of what she’d heated on a plate for him and only one on a plate for her.

“For the growing super soldier,” she told him with an impish grin. “Old men who don’t get their sleep should at least get their fiber.”

The utter normalcy of the jibe sent a burst of warm feeling through him and he had to fight a grin as he played his part. “Hilarious.”

“I know,” she agreed with a wink, then handed him his plate and he shouldered the pack before taking hers as well.

“Grab the tea and maybe we go back to my room? So Tony can sleep?” He assumed Clint had to still be passed out as well.

“Sure.”

Decided, she followed him down the hall pausing only to glance at Tony on the sofa, but the engineer was still sleeping soundly. Inside, Steve set the plates on the single dresser and turned but Nat had already closed the door and set his tea down next to his plate only to claim her own.

Then seeming to ignore her bruises, she circled the bed to settle against the plain headboard, a pillow at her back and her teacup on the nightstand. Once upon a time, it had embarrassed him to share a bed with her in a room by themselves. But it was Nat and she was familiar, and comfortable and usually safe.

When she looked at him expectantly, he hesitated. It wasn’t long, but a flash of something moved across her gaze and then vanished again. The chasm that had narrowed with her teasing remark in the kitchen stretched wide.

_Get it together, Rogers!_ He slipped the backpack down and settled in on the floor on the other side of the bed before grabbing his tea and pastries. Mirroring her, he settled against the headboard and stretched out his legs. “Sorry,” he said by way of apology. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You don’t trust me anymore,” she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world, or they were discussing the weather. “I’m used to it.”

And fuck if that didn’t make him feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Twisting, he turned to look at her and waited until her gaze settled on his again. “That’s not true. You remember when we were at Sam’s? After everything that happened at Camp Lehigh? After Zola?”

She licked the crumbs off her lower lip and nodded. Rumpled Tasha with her red hair tumbling in curly disarray, no make up, a little battered and bruised was one of the most familiar sights in his world—even more than her smooth and polished mission catsuit wearing look and he’d seen far more of the latter than the former.

“You said now be honest, and asked me then if the situation were reversed, would I trust you to save my life?”

She tilted her head, studying him with that opaque gaze of hers he swore had its roots in some supernatural place. It always saw right through him. “And you said I would _now_. And that you were always honest.”

“Yes,” he said and put a hand on her arm. “I meant it then and I mean it now.”

“But you lied then.”

And just like that his stomach bottomed out. “Tasha…”

“It’s okay, Steve. Fury lied, he said he trusted me and he didn’t. He trusted me to follow orders, and that’s all right. You trusted me to lie—and that’s fair. Clint trusts me to get my ass out of the fire and to hopefully pull his out with me. Tony trusts me to betray him.”

Every sentence chipped away at him and he hated it. “I only lied because I trusted you to do that before then, but I didn’t think you would believe me and I thought you really needed to hear it.”

“Hmm.” Then she took another bite of her pastry before reaching for her tea.

Steve sighed and pulled his hand away as he settled his shoulders back against the headboard. The wall across from him had a thin crack, barely visible, snaking through the texturizing they’d done to the wall. Barely there, and yet once he’d seen it, he couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry. I said I was always honest, and I lied.”

“Was that the first time?” A small question with a very loaded detonator.

“You’re asking about Bucky and Stark’s parents.” He couldn’t look at her.

“I’m asking about Tony and the fact we knew Hydra killed his parents, and neither of us said anything to him. And yes, I’m asking about Siberia. Before we go to the part where you try to smooth it over or tell me what you think I might want to hear…I saw the surveillance footage from the silo.”

He frowned.

“Whatever Zemo set up,” she continued. “When he powered the station to full, all of the old equipment came on and they were very efficient in the program, everything was monitored. They always knew what was happening and where. And I saw how it fell down between you, Tony and Barnes.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to hurt him—that part was true. The part where Zola told us Hydra had the Starks killed. I didn’t know it was Bucky—the Winter Soldier. I didn’t see that in the images he showed us. And I told myself not telling Tony about his parents spared him renewed grief over a loss he’d already experienced.” Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and released a sigh. “I was wrong. I get that and I should have told him before. Maybe it would have softened learning Hydra used the Winter Soldier to do it because they wanted the serum Howard had re-engineered.”

A glance at her found Natasha cradling her tea and looking very thoughtful. “The serum for the five other Winter Soldiers Zemo killed?”

“Yes, apparently it made them all insane.” In one small way, Steve was glad Howard hadn’t lived to see that part. Like his son now, Howard would have hated to see his work inflict so much harm when he meant it for better things.

“Not an unusual occurrence in any part of the program,” Nat said, and then shook her head.

Steve took a minute to eat because digging in to explain all of that, even to Nat—or maybe especially to Nat—left him raw. She’d caught him in a lie, and let him have it. “Why didn’t you say something at Sam’s? If you knew I was lying?”

“Would it have affected what we had to do? Would it have changed anything? We had a bigger problem than you trusting me, and then…well you had your mission and I had mine.”

They hadn’t worked together at all, even if it was their joint effort that helped to win the day. He and Sam concentrated on taking down Project Insight with Maria, while Nat took on the World Security Council and Pierce—and most of a Strike Team on her own. Then she helped rip out SHIELD’s guts by dumping the files.

“I’m sorry,” he told her quietly. “I did trust you…”

“Did. Past tense.”

He hit his head against the wall once. “You know what Romanoff…”

“But to be fair, when I mentioned Siberia, I wasn’t just referring to what happened when you were there, Steve.”

Something in her tone warned him. He’d heard this one from her before, the lazy, slow charm which wove a path she wanted her mark to follow. Sam joked once after hearing her interrogate someone that way it was like she really was a damn spider and when that one came out, she’d already caught her target in her web.

“I meant what happened after, when you left your friend to die.”

He’d been picking at the pastries before, now he just slammed them down on the table on his side of the bed and twisted fully to face her. Though she’d finished most of her food, her plate remained perched on her lap and she veiled her eyes as though watching him from beneath her lashes. “I did not leave Tony to die, I tried to stop the damn fight. He wouldn’t give an inch and he was going to kill Bucky.”

“So you shattered his arc reactor, left him pinned in his armor unable to retract it and out of contact with Friday or any other backup at the bottom of a damaged silo in Siberia where the temperatures can drop to the severe negatives, you were what? Sending someone back for him?”

It was the verbal equivalent of her scissor thighs, she’d locked on his head and he was going down. And he had no damn defense. He shouldn’t have left him…he should have… “But he’s okay.” _Not an excuse, Rogers. Not an excuse._

“He’s okay because I found him and got him out of there.” Natasha shifted her posture to sit cross legged and faced him. The boxer shorts dragged up high on her thighs, but he barely spared them a glance. It was the heat in her eyes. “He was delirious, nearly hypothermic, and broken. He was unconscious, and fading fast. Another hour, he probably would have died. He’s not a super soldier Rogers, he can’t come back from being frozen in the ice.”

Like the viciousness of her right hook, it slammed into him. “I never meant for any of that to happen.”

“I know,” she told him, pursing her lips and then shaking her head. “But that’s the problem. We react. We act in the heat of the battle. It’s all we know. Fight. Survive. Fight again. It’s why I agreed with the Accords and Tony.”

Another hit, because he still hadn’t believed it when she did that. And while he hadn’t said it, when Sam asked her _“This from the same woman who told the US government to kiss her ass?”_ he’d silently agreed.

“I can’t change it,” he said, holding onto his temper and what was left of his composure. “I can’t change any of it…not Hydra, not Operation Paperclip, not Zola’s train…not Camp Lehigh. I can’t change it. I don’t know where it all went wrong, Nat. I don’t.” His eyes burned, and he blew out a breath.

“It went wrong when you decided that Barnes was more important than anything else. You didn’t want to sign the Accords, I knew that and I even respected why—but you chose the path of most resistance when it came to Barnes and when I said this is what worse looks like, I was understating it.” No anger discolored her tone, she was so damn calm it actually pissed him off. How did she deliver lines like that without even hinting at her personal stakes?

Then again, he’d seen her at some terrible moments in her life and she never reacted how he expected.

“Then why didn’t you take us in?”

“Rogers, I’m good—but fight Captain America and the Winter Soldier? I’m smarter than that.” The derision stung.

“I’d never have fought you Natasha.”

“I almost believe you,” she said with a little shrug as she pulled her knees up and hugged them. “But I’ve fought you and the soldier before…hell, I still had bruises from my last encounter with him.” If she noticed his flinch and how could she miss it, she didn’t comment. “I also know you. It’s why I said you weren’t going to stop and you told me you couldn’t. I believed you then. So to be honest Steve, that’s why I let you go.” The Steve softened the blow, she used his last name when she was irritated with him or needed him to get his head in the game. “I wanted the fighting to stop before anyone got hurt.”

“Or ended up on the Raft I suppose.” He shook his head. “You said you didn’t know about that part, you and Stark. Did you mean it? Or was that a play last night?” He almost hated himself for asking. No check that, he did hate himself for asking. He hated how his trust in her wobbled. But she looked very cozy with Tony this morning and she’d tried to comfort Tony the night before.

“No, I didn’t _know_ , but then I didn’t not know either. I knew the Raft existed. I knew why it existed, and I know Ross. So while I wasn’t certain, I can’t say I was surprised.” The roundabout answer echoed with honesty. “I’m glad you went back for them.”

“I came back for you, too, you know.” Everything in him hurt. He wanted Natasha back, on his side, giving him hell and keeping him in line. Not this—distance and echoes of mistrust.

“So that’s why you came?” She tilted her head, studying him. Measuring his answers and looking for whatever kernels of truth. “Clint said you and Tony both wanted to see me. I was why you were here.”

“Yes,” he admitted slowly. “That’s…a big part of why I’m here.” The hesitation gave him away but he wasn’t trying to hide it this time. Not really. “We ran into Tony in London, he actually talked to me and then he came with us, we all came to find you here particularly after Paris, but whatever this case you’re working on, that’s not why Clint and I left…” Yeah okay, he needed to not mention Wakanda. “We left to find you. Because I left you out…you let us go and you’re on the run because of us.”

“That’s sweet, Rogers. But I’m a big girl. I’m on the run because I made a choice, and they’re all after me because of my very colorful history.” And just like that she seemed to be writing him off. “Besides, while they’re concentrating on me, they’re leaving you and Barnes alone.”

Weird, but she never asked about where Bucky was or…hell, he couldn’t tell her he went back into cryo because that would mean admitting where he was. He didn’t dare lie again at this point, so maybe omission was the best way to go.

“You know what Romanoff, them not chasing me isn’t worth you being in the wind without backup while the whole world is gunning for you. Yeah, I chose Bucky before, and I got him out of that situation. I protected him.” Steve lifted his chin and met her gaze evenly. “I’m not about to do any less for you.” Because she meant that much to him, period.

“Steve, I don’t need you to save me. Honestly, I don’t. I can save myself.” Her tone suggested she always had and damn it, he did know that. But she wouldn’t have been able to save herself at Camp Lehigh and if she’d been on Zola’s list, she wouldn’t have been able to do that then either.

“It’s not just about saving you,” he gritted out. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why couldn’t he make her understand? “It’s about not _leaving_ you.”

“Again, that’s sweet.” She relaxed her legs again and leaned forward to touch his hands. He threaded his fingers with hers. The gesture soothed him and he suspected that was the point. “I believe you mean it.”

Then all at once, her last words ignited the fragile and frayed bonds on his temper. It was as though she were patronizing him…she the one who _always_ seemed to be lying about something, the agent Fury described as being comfortable with _everything_ was judging him.

He damn near growled the words. “While we’re being honest here, tell me about how you knew Bucky.”

Nothing moved in her expression, and she didn’t pull her hands from his, even as he slid his fingers to her wrap around her very slender wrist. The pulse beneath his fingers beat steady and sure.

“Tell me why he remembers Natalia Alianova Romanova, a name I hadn’t heard of before Zola, a name you have never used around me.”

“Natasha is the diminutive of Natalia.” The ease with which she navigated the roughness of his response filled him with equal amounts of frustration and awe.

“And you’re deflecting,” he replied, with a wry shake of his head. “You know I expect better from you, Romanoff.” _Keep your distance, provoke her into a response_. It was what he’d seen her do a hundred times, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he had to know. “Bucky seemed to think he knew you, before DC and before Odessa,” he tacked on the last when her lips parted as if to offer the rebuttal. Bile burned in his throat, but he pushed forward. He needed the truth. Needed it for Bucky. Needed it for Nat. “Natalia, Little Spider, Red Room…did you know him there?”

_And why the hell didn’t you ever_ tell _me?_ He kept a grip on her wrist, she could get free but she didn’t pull away. Yet he didn’t say those words, beneath his fingers Natasha’s pulse went thready, and her pupils blew wide. Sweat pebbled along her lip, and her skin went icy as hell.

“Nat?” Steve frowned. The silence in the room redoubled and he couldn’t even hear the sound of her breath. Nothing in her expression focused, her gaze far away from him and her pulse stuttered again.

She wasn’t breathing.

He gripped her shoulder and gave her a little shake, the complete void in her expression and her eyes reminded him of another pair of empty eyes staring at him. Bucky’s when he was the Winter Soldier.

And then she lunged, twisting her wrist out of his grasp as she caught him in the face with a hard blow. He tried to catch hold of her as he went over, cushioning her from the floor. But Nat rolled right over him and then she locked her legs around his neck and he barely got a hand between her thigh and his throat as she began to squeeze. One hard twist and she’d snap his neck.

“Natasha!”


	14. Hawkeye, a little help here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes to Nat attacking Steve, and that leads to a few truths, and hot cocoa. Tony steps up, and Steve struggles to understand not everything can be solved with a kick the doors in approach.

Chapter Fourteen

_Hawkeye, a little help here_

Clint

 

 

Clint rolled out of bed and landed in a crouch, Nat’s under the pillow knife in hand, even before his mind registered what woke him. No obvious signs of danger appeared in front of him—then a crash from the other room. Lunging for the door, he was out and nearly collided with Tony in the hall. The billionaire had a gauntlet on and they shared a look before turning toward the only closed door.

“Natasha!” The strained cry from Cap galvanized them into motion, Clint went through the door first half-anticipating more damn black masks or worse. Instead, he arrived in time to see Cap peeling Natasha off him and tossing her back toward the bed.

Yeah, there were some things he didn’t need to see. Only—Cap’s expression was wary and Natasha was…

“Fuck. Back up,” he told Tony, twisting to slam the knife into the wall behind him. He didn’t want a weapon in the middle of an already dangerous situation. Nat crouched, every muscle seemed tensed and ready to spring. Her empty gaze split from Steve to where Tony and Clint were at the door.

Clint recognized the look. Three targets. Weigh. Measure. Assess. Attack.

“What the hell did you do?” Not that they had time for it, because Nat had already leapt. Steve’s arms came up as though he would catch her, but she went low and slid between his legs, a fist slamming into his thigh that if he hadn’t twisted would have wrecked him. Not slowing she jabbed her elbow into the back of his knee.

“What the hell…” Tony whispered.

“Just go down Cap,” Clint ordered, leaping over the falling man and locking his arms and legs around Nat. Trapping her arms to her sides, he scissored his thighs around knees and barely got his head out of the way when she tried to slam it backwards. The impact of her skull to his shoulder was gonna leave a damn mark.

A vague scent of copper teased his nose. Fuck, she’d split a stitch—or five. The way he held her couldn’t be helping, but he didn’t dare let her go.

“You’re hurting her,” Tony said, venturing into the room. Cap knelt a couple of feet away, breathing hard with blood on his lip.

“Just stop talking for a minute,” Clint said. He didn’t have time to explain this to them. “Just go with me here. Right?” He focused the conversation to Nat. “We’re just going to lie here and breathe…” She went limp, but he didn’t buy it for a second. Nat hadn’t given up a fight in her life, and he could spider monkey around her all he wanted, he didn’t have her down. “We’re going to catch our breath.”

The hammer of her pulse vibrated against his hands where he had them locked around her forearms. Not her wrists. Never her wrists. Shackling her wrists was a damn good way to get your nose broken.

“That’s it, we’re breathing. We’re in Vienna, Austria. Our safehouse in Ottakring. I’m Clint Barton, former Agent of SHIELD, and you’re Natasha Romanoff. You’re safe,” he kept up the litany. The last time he did this, it had been easier. SHIELD hadn’t gone to shit with the Avengers shortly after. _Yes, by the way, you’re a fugitive again, but no worries…_ “We saved the world from aliens, and mind controlling gods. We saved a lot of civilians from plummeting out of the skies, and you helped save the world from a Nazi takeover no one saw coming. You’ve got a lot of black in your ledger. But you’re here, and you’re safe.”

Gradually her breathing evened out, but he didn’t let go. He needed to hear the words from her and until she was ready to say them, he’d keep right on talking.

“When Lila was born, you made it to the hospital before me,” he reminded her. “I took that hit cause I was stupid, and you told me not to, but you know, I made the shot.”

“But you didn’t move back from the edge fast enough…” Her voice came out very quiet, almost hushed.

“Nope, I didn’t. So I took the speed express down three stories, broke my collarbone. We were on the transport home when I got the call…and they wouldn’t turn the plane around and I was hopped up on morphine. So you just grabbed a parachute, and a cell phone and took off out of the jet.”

“Got there in time to hold Laura’s hand,” Nat finished. “She was really pissed at you.”

“Yeah well, you’re still her favorite.”

“Lila’s mine,” she admitted, then let out a scattered little laugh. “Not supposed to pick favorites…”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell. You were at the hospital with her all night, and you were there, holding Lila when I got there…and you looked at me and said…”

“Dammit Barton, another five minutes and Laura would have put my name down in the father field.” Another laugh, this one more genuine followed by a hiss of air. “Oh fuck I did it again.” All the tension went out of her and she sagged.

“Yeah, you did, but you’re back and that’s what it’s important. So say the magic words…”

She didn’t say anything at first, then she sighed. “This used to be much more uplifting…” The almost sad echo of his earlier thought made him sigh. “Natasha Romanoff, former Agent of SHIELD, former Avenger, recently returned to the most wanted list for far less than what they used to what to get me for. Think the next guy they send with a kill order will offer me a job, too?”

“Not funny,” he growled in her ear, but loosened his grip immediately and eased away so he could check her side. “You’re fucking bleeding again.” And when she would have sat up, he put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her planted. “Wait, I need to know we didn’t do worse damage.”

He peeled up her tank, ignoring the fresh reddened marks along her arms from where he gripped her. They’d likely leave fresh bruises over the ones already fading. The bright red hand mark on her thigh had already begun to deepen to purple wasn’t much better.

Blood shown on the water proof bandages, and he peeled them away carefully. She’d torn a few, but no where near as much as she could have. A good section of the slice had already knitted closed. The torn part looked worse than it probably was.

“Okay, we’re going to have to cut these and re-suture.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, and then she went absolutely still. Stealing a glance up, he recognized she’d finally noticed Steve and Tony were in the room and they were just behind him. While he couldn’t see their faces, he could imagine the concern and fear they were probably both sporting. All the color fled Nat’s face, and her jaw locked but not before he saw the faint wobble.

“Tell you what guys, why don’t you both give us some air, and let me get Nat to the kitchen, yeah?”

The shuffle of steps told him they were backing off, but they didn’t go far. Tash met his gaze and he lifted his brows.

There was no shame in them knowing.

She never wanted them to know.

They can’t change it.

She hates herself.

He definitely does not hate her.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “It just adds another layer to your complex, and delightful character.”

Emptiness filled her green eyes. “Who did I try to kill?”

“You didn’t try to kill me, Nat,” Steve said, his voice carrying a lot more confidence than Clint would have suspected. “I stepped over the line. Clint’s right, it’s okay.”

He stepped over the line? Clint glanced over his shoulder, and stared hard at the super soldier.

Nat brushed Clint’s arm and dragged his attention back. “I really want to get up.” With a nod to her, he gave her a hand to pull herself up. As much as he wanted to lift her and put her on her feet, or better, carry her out of there—she would never forgive him. The wound oozed, the lift of the shirt leaving her midriff bare around the scar on her abdomen.

Yeah, he and Barnes would have words about that some day.

Clint was adding a lot of little dates to his book.

Nat flicked a look to Steve, then said, “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have attacked you.”

“You didn’t…” But his protest died the moment she stared at him. “It’s okay. We’re good.”

“No we’re not,” she muttered, but she headed for the door and paused when Tony gazed at her. Clint caught Tony’s gaze and shook his head behind Nat’s shoulder. He didn’t want any of them to start anything.

“Right,” Tony said. “You sew Raggedy Red back together again, and I’ll go make coffee…or tea. You like tea, right Red?”

A huff of sound that didn’t quite measure up to laughter escaped her. “I’m swimming in tea.”

“Well, then let’s make hot cocoa. I’ll go out and buy some if I have to. Then you can make pizza…they do pizza in Vienna right? I mean not order to the door pizza, but like that dough you make when you put together your sauce…” Tony kept up a constant stream of talk as he guided Nat back to the kitchen. Clint shut the bedroom door and blocked Steve in the room, then looked at him.

“What the hell did you do?”

And super soldier or not, the man better not make Clint ask again.

“We were talking.”

“Do better than that.”

Cap raked a hand through his hair. “We were talking about everything that’s happened. Nat’s pretty mad at me and…I deserve it.”

“Nat doesn’t get mad.” She really didn’t. “Anger requires emotional investment that can bite her in the ass. She can disagree. She can poke holes. She can even challenge. She doesn’t get angry.”

Not if she can at all help it.

“Fine, she was poking holes in me for what went down in Siberia. I deserved them…but it got a little heated and on the topic of honesty and trust…I asked her about Bucky.”

“Of course you did.” Clint exhaled. “Is that all you did?” Because just asking the question wouldn’t have done this.

“I don’t know, I got annoyed, maybe I pushed…like she does sometimes when she’s working a mark up to letting something slip. I’m no where near as good as she is, and I just thought it might be easier to provoke a bit of honesty if she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You are a clueless dumbass sometimes, honest, earnest and well meaning, but a dumbass. In short form, what did you _say_ specifically?” Clint had a feeling he knew, but he needed to know what trigger the man had pulled.

Steve licked his lips, then squared his shoulders. “We were sitting on the bed, and I had a hand on her arm…I was checking her pulse. That thing she showed me how to do. Just slid my fingers around her wrist, it was a light touch, I meant it to be comforting too.” Well there was mistake number one. “And…I asked her how did Bucky know her from before Odessa? About Natalia…and I translated a phrase he’d written, I can’t really pronounce the Russian, but it said Little Spider. And I asked about the Red Room.” The last came out with a definite air of regret.

“After I specifically told you to leave that alone.” It wasn’t a question.

“I didn’t think…”

“You’re right, Cap. You didn’t think. So now I’m going to go back out there and put together some of the pieces you fractured. When someone tells you to leave a subject alone it’s not just about keeping secrets, it’s about shielding from trauma.” If he said anymore, he’d be betraying confidences, so Clint stalked out of the bedroom and left Steve to follow him.

He admired the man, he really did. He respected him. Most days he even liked him.

Today was not going to be that day.

He pulled the knife from the wall on his way past. He’d have to sharpen that point or Nat would kill him later. The damage to the drywall he’d fix on another trip. In the kitchen, he paused at the scene of Nat perched on the island while Stark worked to stitch up the small area.

The man in question glanced over at him. “Sorry Katniss, you were taking too long with Peeta, I figured I’d go ahead and stop the bleeding while we waited for the milk to heat.” A small pan simmered on the stove.

Steve had followed and he leaned against the wall in the dining nook, hands at his sides. “I was out of line when I pushed Nat. I shouldn’t have, and you didn’t deserve it. Hurting you wasn’t why I came.”

“I don’t like talking about…then.” She admitted with more ease than Clint expected. Since her breathing remained calm and Tony had her new stitches well in hand, Clint washed his hands before heading to the stove.

“Hot cocoa,” Tony told him, unnecessarily. “Except you have no marshmallows which is a sign of a poor host.”

“We showed up uninvited, which is the sign of a poor guest,” Clint said with a half-smile.

“Thought this was your place, too.” Tony grinned.

“Natasha?” Steve said quietly.

“Gimme a few more minutes, Steve. Then we probably all need to talk…”

“We don’t, Nat.” Clint said, glancing at Steve. _Are you serious right now?_

“We do, Clint. We all do. You know but they don’t and they aren’t going to give this up until they do and I have too much in the air right now to keep fighting both of them.” Pragmatic as ever. Yes, Clint _hated_ the Red Room and every damn instructor or so-called adult involved there. Time machine. Should get Stark to build one.

“Hey, I’m not fighting with you,” Tony objected. “I very clearly have the high ground.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Nat replied, a trace of humor in her voice. “And that’s enough. We can leave it at those four stitches. I’ll have to cut them out later.”

“Yeah, you already closed this all up.” The billionaire hadn’t missed how nearly healed the laceration was.

Great. More questions for her to answer.

Whose idea was the Avengers again?

Silence stretched between them, and Nat tugged her shirt down before she slid off the counter. “I’m going to get my laundry going, because I need clothes for this conversation…”

“You can borrow something…” Steve offered. “You used to like stealing my shirts.”

“I still like stealing all of your shirts,” Nat said with an almost unbearable lightness Clint knew she played up for them to try and ease past what happened. It was what she did, putting on the show to take back the situation, diffuse it, and deflect away from the breakdown. If he thought she was only doing it for Tony and Steve, Clint would stop her. But Nat needed it, too. So he let it go. “But it’s not stealing if you offer them.”

Then she was up the hallway back to the room they’d shared the night before.

“What the actual hell, Rogers?” Stark demanded, his voice in a hiss. “You spend five minutes with her and start a fight? Is that all you do now?”

“It wasn’t like that, Tony. I didn’t know it would start anything.” Steve pitched his voice low, too.

“But?” Unmoved, Tony folded his arms and glared at the super soldier. “You did _something_ …”

Steve scraped a hand over his face and Clint took the time to fix all four hot cocoas. They were going to need it. He carried them out to the table, then retrieved the vodka in case Nat needed that.

“You realize that it’s still pretty early, right?” Steve eyed the bottle.

“Yep.” Clint popped the “p” on the end of the word. Nat returned with a duffle and this time Clint did take it. “I’ll throw them in the wash, and ah…” He held up a hand before she could protest. “Cold water, I know, I won’t touch them going to the dryer.”

Nat never let him live down screwing up her clothes to the point she’d had to steal new ones mid-mission.

“Sit, drink hot cocoa. You want a sweatshirt?” He waved her toward the table, but Tony already had a hoodie held out to her and Nat accepted it. The goosebumps rippling along her arms wasn’t from the chill, but if she planned to put herself through the wringer, she didn’t need to do it while dressed in almost nothing.

They were all quiet while he shuffled all her clothes into the same washer, avoiding anything that looked like a dress or had leather. He’d been forbidden from washing them ever. Once he got it started, he joined them at the table.

Nat slid a glance to him with a small smile. He kicked his foot up onto the rungs of the chair. And before she could say anything, he eyed each of them in turn. “This is not an interrogation. That means Nat shares whatever she is up to sharing. If she says you can ask questions, then you can ask. If she doesn’t want to answer, she doesn’t have to. Are we all clear?”

For all the concern both Tony and Steve had shown Nat, there was an air of eagerness about them that they couldn’t quite contain. The woman in question, however, had her hands wrapped tight around the hot cocoa. Usually after an episode like that, she needed to sleep or at least bundle up in a blanket and just watch mindless television for a few hours. On the one or two unfortunate occasions it happened while they were on a job, the crash she’d had after had been far worse.

“We’re also timing this,” he said, the last to Nat and she met his gaze.

“You worry too much,” she told him, but it wasn’t an argument.

“Someone has to, you never worry enough.” A bald face lie, particularly because she likely worried more than all of them, only she chose to actively act on her worries rather than just fret.

Nat reached over and put a hand on his knee, and all of a sudden Clint realized he’d been bouncing it. “I’m okay, Clint. I’m back. I’m me…and it didn’t take you days to find me. Or even a couple of hours to talk me down…”

Covering her hand with his own, he nodded and forced his body into the stillness that served him as a sniper. Slow, even breaths, relaxed muscles and narrow focus. He wasn’t the only one using sniper breathing to get themselves under control, Nat smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her mask was firmly in place however.

Hand returned to her mug, she looked at Tony and then at Steve. “You both have hard questions for me. That’s why you’re here, and yes, I understand you both want to help me too, and I’m not disparaging that in any way, but Tony—you turned yourself into a knot to ask me a question this morning and then stopped. Steve, I pissed you off enough you finally told me what was on your mind.”

Cap leaned forward abruptly. “You baited me into that?”

“Guilty,” she told him with a small smile. “You’ve been staring at me every time we’re in the same room, and I can almost hear all the things you’re trying to hold back.” Then she flicked a look at Tony, “And Tokyo? Really? No….you chose to not ask, even when I was letting you.”

“Don’t use your secret spy whammy on me,” Tony said with a sniff. “I’m inoculated now.” But there was guilt in his eyes.

Steve’s expression seemed torn between concern and annoyance, and then he seemed to let it go. “I trust you, Nat.”

He didn’t have to say it, but the words held meaning in this room and for Nat in particular, but she didn’t respond to that and leaned forward, looking into her cocoa.

“First answer,” she murmured, her voice gaining in strength with every syllable. “I’m tracking a group trading in black market genetic modifications, and they’ve reached human testing stages.”

“London,” Clint supplied. “And you are tracking them to Russia.”

“Some of them, yes. I haven’t figured out where the source is, but London gave me my best leads.”

“What lead you to London?” Stark got on board, whether he thought this was where the conversation was going to go or not.

“Let’s just say I’ve had to deal with a few eager bounty hunters that I thought were only after me for Ross.” The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Turns out a couple of them weren’t. They turned me on to the bounty being offered from London.”

“Which brought you there, and you infiltrated?” Steve had straightened back in the chair, his shoulders squaring. Tactics and debriefings were something he understood well.

“Yes, took a couple of days but I found my in, and then I got what I needed and I shut it down. The files on Ross and the others was just a cherry on top.”

“You do know we all hate when you let them beat you up, right?” Of all of them it was Stark who pointed it out. But Steve nodded and Clint couldn’t really disagree. He’d never been fond of it.

“You know it’s also a very effective tactic,” Nat pointed out. “I have some threads in Russia I can pull for it—Lermentov and maybe Solohob. Solohob’s a bagman, but he could provide more info. Before you ask me where I learned those threads, they go back, I was on a lead which brought them up when we were called in for Loki.”

“You were in Russia, Nat?” Clint slanted a look at her, frowning. She hadn’t told him that.

“Compartmentalized,” she said with a small smile. “Coulson knew you wouldn’t like it so he sent you to Project Pegasus and me to Russia to extract the intel. It’s where I was when I got the call you’d been compromised.” The corners of her mouth turned down, and he sighed.

“You really hate being interrupted when you’re working,” he mentioned, and he earned a small smile.

“True, but I took care of it, then Coulson sent me to get Banner, and I had to hack Stark Tower on my way.” The last was said as a small aside to Tony.

“That was _you?_ ” He leaned forward abruptly, his expression incredulous. “You overwrote JARVIS’ protocols to let Coulson in?”

“Yeah, from the plane.” A smirk. “And yes, I told JARVIS how I did it later so we could patch up that hole.”

“Huh,” he said slumping backwards. “JARVIS didn’t tell me.”

“It was our secret…but I’ll tell you later, if you want to know. It’s not really important to all of this.”

“I do want to know,” Tony replied, and folded his arms. “So I’ll hold you to that.”

Nat traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “So that’s what I was doing before Paris, and where I’ll be going after here.”

Yes, and she seemed to make it sound like they wouldn’t be going with her. Clint would tackle that argument later.

“What happened in Paris?” Steve asked. “More bounty hunters? Or stuff related to this genetics project?”

“Serbian hit squad. Unfortunately none of them were alive long enough for me to interrogate.” And the funny thing was, Nat meant it. “I had to minimize civilian casualties, and hopefully my route threw off any potential trackers.”

“Except you made a lot of noise in Paris, so won’t these guys know you’re coming?” Steve’s concern wasn’t unwarranted, and so far Clint remained happy with both Steve and Tony’s responses, so he kept his own council.

“Maybe, but they don’t have confirmation I was in London, and right now all of their resources are being dissected by any number of government agencies which will leave them either scrambling or keeping their heads down. Both provide good opportunities for me to get in and maybe get ahead. Then take it apart.” She was just stubborn and talented enough to do it.

“What’s your angle in all of this?” Tony nudged his cocoa over to Nat after she finished hers. He hadn’t taken a drink. “You said this earlier, you’re on the run. You’re on all the broadcasts, your face is everywhere…it’s worse than after SHIELD went down. Why do this? Why take the risk?”

“Because if I don’t, who will?” The challenge dropped on the table as she wrapped her fingers around the mug. “You’re right. I’m everywhere, they’re dedicating countless resources to track me down. I used to do this kind of thing for SHIELD, sometimes as an assignment, sometimes as a side mission.” Her gaze flicked to Rogers. “Sometimes I could gather intel that opened doors. Coulson knew, hell Clint knew and helped on some of them.”

He nodded, because he had. Especially after one of her side missions nearly got her probationary agent status yanked. That had been an impulse, but both he and Coulson agreed, her heart and her intentions had been in the right place. So they provided a way for her to keep doing the work without having to go off the reservation.

“But SHIELD is gone. The UN is more interested in bagging and tagging Avengers. World governments just want to point fingers, and what’s left of those who signed the Accords are never going to be sent on something like this. It’s below our paygrade.”

“Well you’re not wrong,” Tony said, disgruntled. “Okay, so you’re tracking some mad scientists and their genetic interference along with human trafficking and you have no idea who is behind it all?”

“No, I have theories but my intel on the more active groups has dried up in recent years. I’ve been focused on larger scale items, and my resources dwindled. I still have contacts in a few cities and sources I can reach out to, but it’s a darker world. When I burned all my covers…I burned a lot of people and they weren’t happy about it.” Then she waved a hand before taking a swallow of the hot cocoa. At least some of the color returned to her pale cheeks. She looked too washed out, and worn thin.

“Second question,” she pressed on, done with talking about her current project. Her gaze was fixed on where she ran her thumb over the mug handle, and she likely missed the glance Tony and Steve shared, but Clint didn’t.

They heard all the things she didn’t say in there. Like that was what she planned to return to when they were done here, and she didn’t plan on anymore backup. Yeah, that wasn’t going to work for Clint or either of them apparently.

“You wanted to know about the Red Room,” she said quietly, and focused on Steve. He shifted in his seat and dropped his folded arms.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, and for the first time Clint believed him. “I’ve already put you through enough hell, Nat. You helped me and it cost you. I don’t want to cost you anymore.”

“I know I don’t have to Rogers, but if it helps Barnes then I’ll tell you.”

Tony frowned and Steve raised his eyebrows. “You did know him before?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, honestly. “Maybe. It’s not clear.”

Hands on the table, Tony leaned forward. “You knew Barnes before what? Before SHIELD?”

“Maybe,” Nat said, not flinching away from his gaze.

“You either knew someone or you didn’t, Rom—Nat. How is it a maybe?” Well, to his credit, the captain was trying.

“Because before Nat was recruited into SHIELD…”

“At arrowpoint,” Tony interjected. “I don’t think they call it recruitment when you only have two options.”

“Tony,” Nat said softly, and he stopped.

“…before SHIELD, Nat has some holes in her memory. Rather large gaps of time. Some of that is hidden under triggers, others just seem to be gone. Her deprogramming and acclimatizing took months,” Clint explained navigating the issues as best as he could. “Nat thinks she may know him because of Odessa.”

“Where he shot you.” Tony had zeroed in on Nat, so had Steve, only his focus included a slow creeping horror through his eyes.

“Is it like what they did to Bucky? When he couldn’t recognize me?”

“I read his file Steve, some of it sounded familiar. But I don’t think I ever worked for Hydra—well at least before SHIELD. Who knows, I apparently don’t.” Tired lay thick in her words, and Clint brushed his knuckles down her arm.

“Take a break? You should sleep.” He could end all of this right now.

“I’m just tired of all of it, and I don’t know if Barnes was ever at the Red Room.”

“But if you don’t remember,” the billionaire said slowly. “You can’t be sure.”

“I didn’t remember a lot of it, I have a very particular skill set and I remember some things…like I know I had parents. I mean I found their graves. But I don’t know how old I was when they died. I have no memory of them at all. I remember Madame B. I will never forget that face. I remember the graduation ceremony. I remember trying to fail…I had forgotten some of that before Wanda. What she did…when we met her, she—it was like she tore open a wall in my mind and all this dust and debris came pouring out and I was there again.” Nat’s gaze went distant, and then she sighed. “Since then…more has been coming back.”

“So in DC what you told me about Odessa, you didn’t remember anymore than that experience?” Was Steve hoping her memory kept her from telling him the truth and not deliberate misdirection?

Clint almost felt bad for the guy. He really did need everything to line up in a black and white way.

“Everything I said about my encounter with the Winter Soldier in Odessa was true, I just didn’t tell you I had a gun and I could have shot him, but I couldn’t make myself take the shot. It was…” She pinched her shoulders up, and shook her head. “I just couldn’t and I had no idea why…but I fixed that by DC. I took the shot there. Not that it did any good.” And she wasn’t happy about taking that shot.

Nor was she saying everything she knew.

Steve flinched.

“And we’re taking a break now,” Clint said, touching Nat’s arm. He’d had enough of her skinning herself from the inside out for everyone. “You need to sleep.”

“I second that, and I’ve got some work to do…Nat I hijacked some files from London, I can start digging down on those and get FRIDAY on it, we’ll get more workable data sets.”

Even Steve nodded. “Get some sleep…”

“But I wasn’t…I didn’t actually…”

“Yeah, I know,” Clint assured her and he urged her up and then led her back to the bedroom they’d shared. Neither Tony nor Steve tried to stop him. Inside, Nat tugged away from his grip. “Why did you want me to stop?”

“Because whatever you’re not saying about Barnes is eating you up inside,” he told her against her ear. “I’m not asking, you don’t have to tell me anything other than let me know if you’re compromised so I can help.”

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly and leaned back against him. Clint let her rest her weight without trying to put an arm around her. “It’s just…there’s so much going on and I don’t want to deal with the Barnes situation. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s really important to Steve.”

“Steve’s a big boy, he can figure it out.”

“I just don’t get why he isn’t with Barnes figuring it out instead of coming after me… He said Barnes was remembering, so why not get him to tell the story?”

_Yeah, okay Steve, you had your chance_. “Because Barnes is in cryo again,” he said the words softly. They wouldn’t carry past the two of them. “He chose to do it until friends could help get the triggers out of his head.”

Nat twisted to stare at him, her eyebrows gathering and then she rubbed a hand over her face, swaying. Yeah, she’d pushed her crash too long.

“And we can figure that out later or not,” he told her as he guided her over to the bed and dragged the covers back. She was still wrapped in Tony’s hoodie, and she curled up on her uninjured side. He tucked her in, and carded his fingers through her hair. “No dreams, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” she said with a faint smile. “Clint…you and Laura?”

“Shh,” he said, and shook his head. Laura had made the right call no matter how he looked at it. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but they had enough pain right now and his could wait. “Not ready to talk about that yet. We have time. Later. You sleep.”

She watched him quietly, then reached up to catch his fingers in her hair. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said with a grin. “But that’s why you like me.”

With a huff, she closed her eyes and went silent. He sat there a little while longer, waiting for her breathing to truly regulate, then she murmured, “I haven’t slipped in a long time…”

“We caught it. You’re safe and I’m right here. Go to sleep.” It took time, but Nat finally drifted off and Clint bowed his head. It had been a hell of a long time since Nat had been triggered.

Before he’d had Coulson to back him, Coulson who understood Nat almost as well as Clint did just through observation.

No Coulson. No SHIELD. Just them.

Time to put his game face on, he had to be enough.

The big question was whether Tony and Steve were going to help or make it worse?

And Clint had no idea which it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Lots of answers, but loads more questions. Not to mention we have a few outstanding problems that need resolution, and at least one other ex-Soviet assassin to make an appearance. Thank you for all the great comments!


	15. I'm multitasking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Steve, and Clint wrestle with the fallout of revelations as new issues come to light, including the imminent arrival of Bucky Barnes. Also, Tony has to deal with a Peter emergency. 
> 
> Chapter contains multiple viewpoints.

Chapter Fifteen

_I’m multitasking._

 

Tony

 

 

Despite powering up all the holographic displays, Tony hadn’t actually started on any one thing. Clint ushered Nat out leaving he and Steve at the table, and for the first time since this little workcation began, Tony didn’t know what to do and he didn’t feel the immediate need to flee Steve’s presence. Was he still pissed at Rogers for hiding the truth from him?

Hell yes.

Was he still pissed about everything that went down with the Accords?

Absolutely.

Could he have killed him for how he’d thrown Nat across the bedroom earlier?

His gauntlet had been fully powered and Steve didn’t have the damn shield this time.

What the hell was that with Nat’s eyes? They’d been…gone. It was like…

Yeah, Tony didn’t want to go there. The fact Clint had to hurt her to bring her back, didn’t help.

“Hungry?” Steve said after a minute.

“Not really,” Tony said, the moisture in his mouth gone and his stomach sour.

“Me neither.” The super soldier stared across the living room. “I really screwed all this up.”

“Maybe,” Tony conceded and pushed away from the table.

“Maybe?” Sure, he had the right to be incredulous. Tony hadn’t been exactly circumspect in his opinions.

“Maybe. Live with it. I don’t…” Pivoting, he faced Steve. “I’ve been researching the Red Room. You and I should talk. Maybe not here… and definitely not around Nat. Not unless she wants to.”

“Secrets is what got us here.” Despite the objection, Steve didn’t seem to disagree with the need to talk.

“Yep. We’ve all got secrets, but I’m starting to think Nat’s secrets have teeth…”

A ping behind his ear. “Boss, project complete. Dispatch imminent. Estimated arrival time 4.5 hours.”

“Thanks baby girl.” He responded and waved off Steve’s questioning look. “Status on sear—”

“Boss! Alert from Spider-kid, chute deployed at over fifteen hundred feet.”

“Deploy Mark 47, intercept course.” Tony crossed to the living room, and grabbed his glasses from the table. Sliding them on, the HUD appeared on the lenses. The Mark 47 departed the tower at speed arcing across the city.

“Boss, he’s tangled in the chute.”

“I see it, increase speed.”

The kid hit the water and Tony clenched his teeth. Friday projected the time to reach him, and 30 seconds still seemed an eternity. As the suit struck into the water, they found the kid still tangled in the chute and sinking. Cutting through the fabric, they lifted him out of the water and angled for the shore.

“Vitals present!” Friday’s assurance helped, but Tony’s gut still churned as he dropped onto the sofa and switched the screen over to readouts from the kid’s suit. Heart rate, respiration, body temperature…

“Huh? Oh, hey.” Peter’s exhausted voice and sagging body left Tony aching. What the hell had he been doing that high in the middle of…? Where the hell was he? Queens?

Once he got Peter settled on a jungle gym in a nearby park, the suit hovered giving Tony a good look at him. He didn’t look too battered. The suit spit out a lot of data he’d have to review, including altitude, speed changes…the kid hadn’t gotten that high on his own.

A glance to the kid found him wringing out his mask, and oh, talking. He split his attention from the errors the suit had attempted to compensate for. The chute deployed automatically at the altitude, and it explained how he got tangled. “…And then he just, he just, like, swooped down like a monster and he picked me up and, uh, he took me up, like, a thousand feet and just dropped me. How’d you find me? Did you put a tracker in my suit or something?” He was also shivering.

“I put everything in your suit. Including this heater.” He activated the remote protocol.

“Whoa!” The suit dried instantly, steam rising from it to surround Peter. His expression was equal parts stunned and delighted.

Heating had been an important feature when he dealt with icing all those years ago, and redoubled after Siberia.

 **“** Whew, that’s better. Thanks.” Peter hugged himself, but at least the teeth chattering slowed.

Satisfied Peter was safe, his vitals good, and he wasn’t significantly harmed, Tony refocused on him and scowled. “What were you thinking?”

 **“** The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons. I gotta take him down.”

Save him from over eager teenagers who thought they could do anything. Even with his enhancements… “Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing.”

 **“** The Avengers?” The kid perked up.

“ No, no, no.” Then he winced, but he wasn’t there and the kid needed to stay out of this. “This is a little below their pay grade.” He could put in a call to the FBI. Get them looking into the situation in the spirit of cooperation and a favor owed could come in handy.

 **“** Anyway, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to come all the way out here. I had that. I was fine.”

 **“** Oh, I’m not here.” Friday obliged by opening the helmet. The suit was on full remote, much as Jarvis before her, Friday could manage the suit in full rescue mode. Another safety protocol in the event she lost touch with him and his suit, another would be deployed.

 _“_ Thank God this place has Wi-Fi or you would be toast right now.” He almost added he should thank Nat too, but kept it to himself. “Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please.” He’d been gone from New York for five minutes and now that new guy?

“Why?” Peter demanded and Tony snapped his attention back to him.

“Why? Because I said so!” Then because that echoed too sharply of a rebuke he’d faced from his own father, Tony relented. _“_ Stay close to the ground. Build up your game helping little people, like that lady that bought you the churro. Can’t you just be…” He started to say Peter Parker, but caught Steve staring intently with a definite look of concern on his face. “…a friendly neighborhood, Spider-Man?”

“But I’m ready for more than that now.” This kid was going to be the death of him.

“No,” he told him firmly. “You are not.”

“That is not what you thought when I took on Captain America.” Yep, and just like Cap, the kid didn’t want to give up. Course, if Tony were in the kid’s shoes, he’d probably argue, too.

 **“** Trust me, kid. If Cap wanted to lay you out, he would’ve.” Something he’d been grateful for after Leipzig even if he’d never admitted it out loud. It was time to end this conversation. He had too many balls in the air at the moment, and he had to get to the bottom of what was going on with Nat. “Listen to me. If you come across these weapons again, call Happy.”

The protest in Peter’s eyes tugged at him.

“You know, it’s never too early to start thinking about college. I got some pull at MIT.” Then he tapped the ear piece once and Friday cut communications. “Friday, return Mark 47 to the Tower, keep tabs on the kid’s suit, up monitoring.”

“You don’t think he’s going to listen to you Boss?”

“I never did, why should he?” Wisely, Friday didn’t sass him on that one. Swiping off the suit’s protocols, Tony removed the glasses and looked at Steve.

“Spider kid from the airport?”

“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He got into some trouble. He’s fine now.”

“Nice save.” The soft compliment startled Tony. Had Cap just agreed with him?

“Thanks for not kicking his ass at the airport.” It was grudging, but it should be said. If the kid got hurt…well that would have been on Tony.

For his part, Cap didn’t favor him with a lecture or his disapproving stare; he just nodded. Instead, they fell into an uneasy silence—and likely they were both considering the same thing. It had been over forty-five minutes and Clint hadn’t emerged from the bedroom yet, hopefully Nat was okay.

“I feel like I should be doing something.”

Tony almost missed Steve’s quiet comment. “Yeah, me too and look… I have things I can be doing.” He tabbed through the projection to find the files, he’d lifted and then glanced at Nat’s laptop. She hadn’t touched it since they got here maybe he could…

A phone rang, and Steve glanced over to the dining area and diverted. Tony told himself to focus on the screen in front of him and not listen, but Steve’s harried voice dragged his attention.

“Is something wrong?”

Who was Tony kidding? He inputted the commands to Friday manually, and he still needed to check on his other searches. She’d been working for a while, but he’d been distracted.

“I can’t… I’m in Vienna.”

Had he just…? Tony twisted and stopped pretending he wasn’t listening. His gaze collided with Clint’s and the archer wore the same expression Tony had to be.

Had Steve really just told someone _where_ they were?

**Steve**

 

 

His jaw ached from the blow Nat gave him earlier and there was a knot on his thigh. Yeah, he’d heal soon enough, but the physical ache coupled with the realization of having pushed Nat to a snapping point haunted him. He’d tried to focus on Nat’s story, but the idea she couldn’t remember? That she’d suffered the same brutal treatments as Bucky? It just added another layer of horror to the story.

Then Tony was there, rescuing a kid using his suit even though he was four thousand miles away and it had him questioning everything he thought he understood. When the phone Shuri had given him rang, his stomach dropped all over again. They did not need more problems.

“Captain Rogers, I need your location.” She hadn’t waited for him to even issue a greeting before speaking. The younger sister of T’Challa was every bit a genius, and so full of life and spirit, she’d given Steve a lot to hope for.

“Is something wrong?” He wanted to ask had something happened to Bucky? But Stark was right there and they’d managed this tenuous peace so far. Enough that Steve hadn’t argued about how young the spider kid had to be. It wasn’t his place, and Tony had clearly been worried. Clint was right, sometimes secrets weren’t about hiding things but protecting against trauma.

“Unfortunately and I cannot go into the details. I need your location. We are in the process of waking Sergeant Barnes. I have an arm ready for him, and supplies for him. It is best, however, if we evacuate him from Wakanda for a time.” Then her voice softened. “My brother and I extend our apologies and I promise you, we will not abandon him. And I know you are already thinking of offering your assistance. We appreciate the sentiment, but this is an internal matter and one…” her voice dropped. “One on a severe time table. So please, tell me where you are so I can arrange transport.”

What…? “I can’t…” He started to say, but swallowed the rest of those words. T’Challa had proven to be an honorable man, and Steve didn’t doubt his sincerity when he said if he could give Bucky peace, he would do so. Shuri had also been thrilled at the idea of helping him. If they needed to make this request, then he wasn’t going to argue. “I’m in Vienna.”

“Austria?”

“Yes.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve caught Clint just _staring_ at him. His normally placid and unreadable face, hard and measuring. Tony also stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

“Thank you Captain Rogers, a wardog will be bringing Sergeant Barnes to you as soon as he is ready to travel. I will have them contact you on this number when they are nearing Vienna.”

“Thank you…should I…” The call had already ended and he stared at the phone. An internal matter. Hell, Bucky was going to be awake and he’d only been in Cryo a few weeks. It was both the best and worst news.

“Problems?” Clint asked, and his tone suggested there better not be.

“Maybe,” Steve said, rather than try to hide it. “I might have to relocate.” But where…where the hell would he take Bucky? “And, I might need some help.”

Dammit. He didn’t want to leave Nat. “Is there another safehouse within a reasonable travel distance? Something larger?”

“Or the apartment next door with another two bedrooms?” Tony said, his tone dry. “You know, Clint’s super secret investment.”

Folding his arms, Clint leaned against the wall nearest the hall leading to the bedrooms. “What’s up?”

Steve glanced at Tony. He hesitated a beat, then blew out a breath. “We’re going to have company…”

“Rogers, we both figured that part out.” Tony didn’t seem to share his hesitation. “Pretty much from when you told the caller where you were. More space means another body is coming. That only leaves the identity of who it is up for grabs and your concern about me knowing confirms it’s one of the other Avengers, and most likely Barnes. So let’s pretend we’re all on the same side, we used to be good at that, and stop beating around the bush.”

“Barnes is awake?” Clint narrowed his eyes.

Secrets were sometimes necessary to protect from trauma. But they could also cause trauma. “They had to wake him up, an internal matter and it’s all the info they shared. He’ll be on a flight here in a few hours. They’ll notify me when they’re close and I can arrange to go get him.”

“Did you leave him behind because he was napping?” Tony eyed him, then Clint. “And you can say Wakanda. I figured that out when you left with T’Challa and fell off the map.”

Of course, Tony knew where they were. But Tony had also been shielding them from facial recognition so maybe.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not your buddy’s biggest fan and no, I don’t want him here and not anywhere near Nat. I think he’s done her plenty of damage.” And no amount of détente was going to make the situation any easier.

“This is a bad idea, Cap. Unless they managed to clean all those triggers out.” Clint didn’t pull his punch or hold back on his doubt.

“I’m not happy about it,” Steve admitted, and it was a small lie. Even if it had been what Bucky wanted, Steve hadn’t been a fan of him going back into the ice. “But I don’t have a lot of choices… Tony, it’s a big ask, but can you…”

“Friday,” Tony said without waiting for him to finish. “You’re filtering Barnes’ facial recognition running along with the rest of the team, right?” He waited a beat, then nodded. “Now, now baby girl, let’s play nice. I blew off his arm. I can be gracious. If anyone kills him, it will be me.” And Tony didn’t look away from Steve once. “Just keep him off the radar. If he’s going to be anywhere near Nat it’s better he attracts no attention at all. Not that he’s going to be near Nat…”

“Let Nat decide that later,” Clint said, then rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “This is so many different shades of fucked up.”

“It can’t be helped,” Steve fought to keep his tone even. Buck and Tony could not be anywhere near each other. And that meant he’d have to walk away from Nat again, and Steve wasn’t willing to do that. “I know we’re dealing with a smaller space here, so we’ll go. I get next door might be too close—but I can talk to Buck. He can stay there and we’ll keep working with Nat.”

With a shake of his head, Tony rolled his eyes and returned to the projections.

“Cap,” Clint said, his tone brooking no arguments. “He’s too noticeable here. He stands out, and we’ve already got a few dozen other problems. Concentrating all of us in one location…”

“Fine, we’ll move us,” Tony said, interrupting. “We need something with more space and security—to keep us all safe—yes?”

“Yeah, but we’re not even going to be here long term, Nat’s going to be ready to move in a day or two at most, and that’s best case scenario.” If anyone would know it was Clint.

“We need a more secure location, she needs to recover, we need to track down this info, and get a line on these traffickers. I’m also going to put out feelers on who might have placed a bounty. I know some people…” Tony knew a lot of people.

“It’s probably Ross,” Clint said, but then he sighed. “I’m going to make some calls, too. We can’t have guns coming at us from all directions. Nat’s good, but unless she goes underground which she won’t do at the moment, being a moving target is best case scenario.”

“Buck’s good in a fight. He could be helpful for that,” Steve mentioned, not that he wanted him in the middle of yet another fight. It wasn’t fair to any of them.

Tony just stared at him, and his mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth.

“Tony, I’m trying…”

“I noticed you’re very trying, Capsicle, but take note, I’m doing my best here. You want your best buddy, and Nat too, but they may not go together and if today was any example, he might be the absolute _last_ thing she needs to see right now.”

The worst part of it was, Tony might have a point. Steve never wanted to see Nat like that again, not… just not.

“Friday,” Tony spoke to his AI, and he must have had a way to listen to her that Steve couldn’t see. “Secure the chalet in Switzerland, make sure it’s fully stocked for a month’s stay for…” Tony eyed him. “Let’s say eight people. Prepared meals, full coffee selection, fresh clothes—pull Romanoff, Rogers, and Barton’s sizes. Get me a few things if I don’t have anything there. Engage privacy protocols, put the staff to readying then send them away. I need it prepared within twelve hours. All screens up, and lock it down to my voice print and standard security protocols, I’ll update on site. Then notify Pepper I’m in build mode, I’ll be offline for a few weeks.” He waited a beat, then said, “No, keep the project en route. I’m probably going to need it.”

Steve exhaled. “Thanks Tony.” The billionaire was going above and beyond.

“Don’t thank me, just keep your buddy on a leash and away from the rest of us…and I’m not kidding, one false move and it’s over. He doesn’t get a chance to snap on anyone else. I won’t watch him strangle or shoot her again.”

Every objection and term Tony laid out revolved around Natasha and Steve couldn’t find fault with any of them, even if he wished none of it was necessary. “Agreed. He’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

“So…we should make food,” Clint said. “If we’re packing it up here and moving soon. No need to waste any of it. Yeah…” Then the archer headed for the kitchen and

Steve considered Tony for another long moment, but when he would have opened his mouth to say something the other man shook his head once in the hard negative. “Don’t—just leave it. I have work to do and I don’t want to think about Barnes at the moment or ever.” Then the inventor turned his back on him and resumed his work.

“I’m going for a run,” he told no one in particular. He needed to move.

“Hoodie and photostatic veil,” Clint called from the kitchen. “Lose all electronic devices and run west, it angles away from the metro areas and the majority of the CCTVs. Try to run at normal speeds, yeah?”

It was a lot to keep in mind, but the energy buzzing under his skin would make him insane if he didn’t burn some of it off and right now, Tony could use a break from him.

 

Clint

 

 

After Steve slipped out, Tony went quiet except for an occasional mumble to his AI. Or at least, Clint hoped it was an AI. He pulled out two of frozen trays with pot roast and potatoes and shoved them in the oven. Maybe should have made it three considering Steve’s metabolism. As it was, he left it for now, and started another pot of coffee.

It was only mid-morning, so it was still the middle of the night at home. He couldn’t call Laura or the kids, no matter how much he wanted to talk to them. No, he’d wait until later, after the kids were home from school and hopefully Laura would be less harried.

When this used to happen before, she’d been the one to point out that Nat didn’t have a stable form of normalcy, not one they would consider. So he had to make it as normal as possible when she came back from these episodes. Give her a sense of belonging, but don’t let her pull away. If only it were a simple as she’d phrased it. Of course, then she’d pointed out that Clint was the one who’d wanted her in the first place, so if he wanted to bring home the puppy, he had to be the one to take care of it.

Not his favorite analogy, but it stuck.

As soon as the coffee finished hissing into the carafe, Tony appeared in the kitchen. “Is Barnes going to be a problem?”

“You know,” Clint said with a sigh, because really, they could have used some better fucking news than the Winter Soldier was coming for dinner. “I have no idea. I’m surprised you’re making accommodations for him.”

“I’m not.” With his characteristic bluntness, Tony grimaced as he poured his coffee. “I’m choosing my battleground, and isolating the danger. I’ve got a panic room at the chalet that can contain him, or at least hold him off if necessary.”

Steve wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that.

“You know, I always wondered why you backed Steve’s play on that, and why you’d side with the guy who shot your best friend. I couldn’t figure it.” Tony studied him as he sipped his coffee. “Can’t sort it now, watching you put yourself between her and us. Don’t get me wrong, I respect it. You want to keep her safe, but you fought against her.”

“So are you just speculating out loud or are you asking?” Because this was just the conversation he wanted to have.

“Let’s say I’m asking while it’s just you and me. Where do you stand on Barnes?”

“I stand right where Nat needs me to be, at a distance. Watching. Protecting her back.” Clint poured himself a cup, then eyed the mugs on the table. Those would need to be washed. The first aid kit was still on the island. “What do you have for first aid supplies at your place?”

“Everything we’ll need, but she’s going to be healed before we get there. Based on the accelerated rate I’ve been calculating considering the nature of her wounds last evening to this morning. If she hadn’t tried to fight Steve, she’d probably be fully healed by tonight.” Yeah, Tony hadn’t missed it. “I’d have a better estimate if I’d paid closer attention to that, but Nat’s never been one to complain so I missed it. I won’t do that again.”

“Fair enough,” Clint said, then sipped his coffee. The washer had stopped, which meant he needed to move Nat’s clothes to the dryer. Then again Tony even arranged for them to have clothes.

“What happened in Rogers’ room, with Nat…how often?”

Clint flipped one of her t-shirts right side out as he decided how to answer the question. Her jeans already were as were the two pairs of yoga pants. Nat tended to be precise. “It’s been…a few years.”

“So stress isn’t one of the triggers.” While an assumption, there was a reason people labeled him as a genius. “If stress were the trigger, New York would definitely have done it. Or when Ultron took her.”

Yeah, Clint didn’t want to think about the latter. Not when she got ripped away or Steve ordered him to get the cradle to New York. It had been a sacrifice play she hadn’t intended it to be and not once in the years since the incident had she ever remarked on it. “Well it wouldn’t,” he explained, taking care with swapping her clothes. “She had a mission. Nat’s very focused when it comes to her work and it keeps her grounded.”

“Unhealthy coping mechanisms requiring high stress situations that focus her on a set of objectives.” Tony frowned. “Has she ever been treated for PTSD?”

“Tony, I’m not going to discuss Nat’s medical history with you.” The fact the doctors avoided that specific diagnosis weighed on his mind. They used terms like mental recalibration, adjustment, and adaptation. The blackouts happened a hell of a lot more when she had significant downtime, so they’d adjusted, deciding guilt played a factor. Hell, he and Coulson spent one very long night while she detoxed and evened out after Clint had to hunt her down in Barcelona and bring her down—fuck he’d hated that, it had taken him two weeks to even find her—discussing how they could coordinate her downtime to minimize how off kilter she got.

Nat needed a mission; they’d pounded it into her veins.

“But it’s been more than four years without an incidence. And you both indicated today’s wasn’t as bad as it could be.” Yeah, he definitely didn’t phrase it as a question. “What happens if it occurs again and you’re not there?”

He got the dryer started before he answered. “Avoid backing her into a corner she can’t get out of, don’t grab her wrists, and don’t ask her about the damn Red Room, and hopefully we’re going to be able to avoid it.”

“Barnes is coming,” Tony said flatly, locking his gaze on him. “Rogers and I are handling it at the moment, there is no guarantee of how long that will last. In the event Nat slips again, is locking her down the way you did and just talking to her effective?”

“Shock her,” Clint said, hating himself. “Taser would be best. If you can’t pin her that way, you get too close and she’ll kill you.” His shoulder ached from the blows he’d taken and like he’d already told him, this incident hadn’t been bad. He’d had a broken arm, four cracked ribs, and he’d lost at least one tooth after Barcelona and that didn’t include the mild concussion. “If you can get a good head blow, that usually helps too.”

“Her mental recalibration?” Dry, but with the barest hint of a smile which held no humor. “So hurt her to fix her?”

“Not a fan of it myself, but if we don’t and she gets out in fight or flight mode, people can and have been hurt in the past. She doesn’t need any more red in her ledger, not if we can stop it and she won’t thank you for going easy on her. Don’t worry, Stark. I’m not going anywhere.” Sooner, rather than later, Nat was going to try and ditch all of them. It wasn’t a matter of if, just when.

“Fine, I’ll see if I can work up something that won’t leave her too hurt.” Tony turned to the medicine kit and pulled out a handful of ibuprofen and acetaminophen.

“You know sleep is more useful than just taking a fistful of pills and washing it down with coffee.”

“Can’t work while I’m asleep and we have a lot to do before we get out of here.” Tony deflected and Clint didn’t call him on it. Despite the very obvious bad blood for everything that had gone down, Tony was _here_ and helping. It mattered. “You still didn’t tell me why you sided with Rogers.” Was he doing a threat assessment or just curious?

“Not a fan of overreach,” Clint answered. “I read the Accords, they’re hella full of overreach. SHIELD may have begun the Avengers Initiative and Fury might have pointed us in a direction, but he also understood collateral. You already had all kinds of safe guards in place from the Iron Legion, to rescue operations and rebuilds.”

“At significant cost,” Tony agreed with him. “But without SHIELD’s muscle to—well shield us.”

“Fair, but I don’t see a bunch of appointed yes men to a committee led by the U.S. Secretary of State being a fair and impartial arbiter for when and where we’re needed. Kind of like the pencil pusher in the call center who decides whether a doctor’s diagnosis is the valid one. Great for saving the insurance company money, and bad for everyone else.”

Stark actually laughed at that, and shook his head. “So…overhead and management was the problem?”

“No, not really. I was retired, I’d told myself that I was heading that way and after SHIELD and Ultron, it seemed to be a good time. But things weren’t really going well and Steve called about five potential Winter Soldiers worse than Barnes and I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit that out if I could help.” Because at the end of the day, they’d been fighting to get out of the airport to get to freaking Siberia not to battle their friends over some damn Accords. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think the Accords are a bad idea. Too rigid, and not enough real understanding at the top. But the situation in Siberia seemed to be a real emergency, the worst part of it all was we got played. And that fucking stings.”

“Well Zemo had our number,” Tony admitted.

“But he shouldn’t have…that’s the thing. If all that other crap hadn’t been going on, Nat would have seen it. She’d have seen it before any of us cause that’s what she does. But there was too much noise…”

“And she was at the epicenter.” At least on this they were in agreement. “A part of me wonders if Zemo intended to take her out instead of King T’Chaka with the bomb in Vienna. She’s taken a lot of hits over this.”

That was an uncomfortable thought that would linger. If he had taken out Nat…fuck the Avengers had already gone to hell, but thinking his best friend finally succeeded in killing Nat would have torn Steve apart while weakening them all. “Yes, she has. But don’t sell yourself short, Stark. So have you.”

The engineer shrugged. “Probably what I get for failing to go with the recommendation she wrote—you know Iron Man Recommended, but Tony Stark not? Probably should have listened to her on that. Avoided some stuff.”

Clint let the first deflection go, but not this one. At the moment, they already had too many emotional IEDs waiting to ambush them. He could defuse this one. After setting the temperature on low heat, he got the dryer started and reclaimed his coffee before saying, “You know why she wrote that don’t you?”

“I’m going to guess you do.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep,” Clint told him as started out of the kitchen. “She said you didn’t trust yourself, and you were a smart guy. She didn’t recommend you because she didn’t think the initiative would be good for you, no matter how much the rest would benefit.”

He left him to chew on that and headed back to the bedroom. Nat might not sleep long or she might sleep all day. Better to be there if she needed him so she didn’t wake alone and he could go through what gear he had with him.

Barnes was coming.

Yeah, somehow, Clint didn’t see how this wouldn’t go wrong.

 

Natasha

 

In her dreams, she rose up on point, and danced until her legs burned and her toes went numb. That it was a dream, and she even knew it was a dream, didn’t stop the music as she stepped from a plié to first position to a pirouette to a leap, and each time she came down, a gun went off. Or in the next instance when a garrote stretched between her fingers or in the next, when it was knives.

During one particular combination she sailed through the air and it was her legs that closed around the neck of one, and then away. Always up, down, leap, away and with each combination another thud of the percussion filled the gaping theater while fire flickered around the edges—stage magic? Or hell?

Red carpet.

Red seats.

Red curtains.

Red walls.

Red dress.

Red fingers.

Red toes.

There were twenty-eight dancers in the Bolshoi…and one by one the curtains came down on them until only Natalia spun across the stage, leaving a trail of bloody red prints.

Beyond in the audience, Madame watched impassively.

“Sloppy, Natalia, sloppy. Trying to pretend to fail! You are our best, our brightest…where else in the world do you think you should be?”

“I have no place in this world,” she answered automatically and continued to dance.

Nothing let her wake from the dream.

Nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As indicated previously, this work can be considered through Civil War compliant, but will take liberties beyond that. Some elements of Spider-man Homecoming, and Black Panther take place in the background and may be subtly altered from theatrical presentation and canon. All rights as always remain with Marvel. This is just me playing in their sandbox.


	16. Like you said, he's a ghost story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still processing after being woken from cryo, Bucky is reunited with Steve far from Wakanda. Everything is a little muddled, but he isn't alone as he tries to sort out why Stark is there, along with other fragmented thoughts.

Chapter Sixteen

_Like you said, he’s a ghost story_

 

Bucky

 

 

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Light. Heat. Cold. So. Cold.

“We have begun the warming process, you are out of the cryo chamber.”

A musical voice. Familiar? Unknown. Designation? Unknown.

“Please try to take it easy. It will take a couple of hours to reorient you. We must test your reflexes—no, change it to the 100% solution, hydration will be a concern and he hasn’t eaten in weeks, add nutrition, high dense calories.”

Weeks? Mission status? Unknown.

“Relax, Sergeant Barnes. I am cleaning the area for your prosthetic. And verifying the connections. Your nerve responses all seem to be in order.”

Maintenance? Confirmed. The woman was a technician. He could be patient. The pain had not begun.

Blink.

Light.

Dark.

Shivering.

Warmth.

Blink.

The big light blur sharpened gradually and formed a frame around a set of delicate features with dancing eyes and long braids. “Back with us again, Sergeant Barnes? You are looking better. Too pale, but that’s probably genetic.” She grinned, but the smile was fast and fleeting. “Can you focus on this?” She held up a small pen like device and he tracked it as she moved it back and forth. “Excellent. I’m going to use a light now to test pupil response, it might sting a bit.”

The pin light shone in his eyes and he blinked twice, then managed to look past the corona effect haloing it.

“We’re seeing measurable response now, these are good things. Reflex tests are next. I’ve added another nutrition bag, you look half-starved, and I don’t believe the captain would be happy with you arriving in such a manner.”

Captain? New handler? No.

“Steve?” The word came out hoarse and almost garbled, and the Soldier didn’t recognize it. No, he wasn’t the Soldier, he was…

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes. We notified Captain Rogers. Once we’re done here, we will be moving you to a flight where you will join him.”

Deployment? Imminent.

“Mission parameters?”

“Hmm,” the woman—well more girl—female, he could settle on female, frowned. “At the moment, sit here since we have you upright. You will need at least another litre of fluids. Are you in any discomfort?”

Assessment? Standard. “No.” Bones ached. Cold diminishing. Probability of improvement? High.

“Well your respiration and pulse confirm your statement, but some of your neural pathways remain scarred, likely from overload.” She held up a small device with a button. “Should discomfort present, or you experience any pain, please press this immediately.”

He nodded once to the parameters she expressed. Reporting pain was an unexpected requirement. Consideration should be given before revealing a weakness. 

“Now,” she continued, extending a data pad to him. He went to reach for it with his left arm, but the hand didn’t appear. Mission readiness? Incomplete. His arm was not present. “Maintenance?”

Another small frown and a flicker of concern appeared on her face. “We’re calibrating the new arm, we’ve upgraded you to something lighter. It shouldn’t pull so much on your frame. But we need some time before I can install it.”

Maintenance confirmed. He accepted the data pad with his right hand. The device was lighter than the ones he was more familiar with, but the organic hand was less likely to damage the equipment.

The female tapped the screen and said, “Each screen will ask you to perform a task, it’s a series of cognitive tests. Please go ahead and work on those.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the instructions, they didn’t seem to require a verbal answer. Focusing his attention on the screen, he braced the pad against his lap. The first screen presented a large grid of random items, it asked him to study the items and informed him he would have only ten seconds to make a choice, tap the screen once to begin. He proceeded, and it flipped to a screen to one with both the items and a question:

One of these items is a household tool, please select the item.

He chose the hammer.

The next asked to identify something that could fly.

A plane.

So it continued, until he’d identified more than 30 objects.

At the end, the screen changed to show him shapes along with a selection of matching shapes.

The same requirements as before. Though this time, there weren’t always matches. On those he simply waited for the next question.

He completed matches in under 1 second each.

His breathing deepened as pattern recognition appeared. He had to identify same or different.

He had five seconds to answer these.

They were challenging. The images in many cases, close but only off by a millimeter or two. Visual acuity had never been a weakness in the Soldier.

 _Not Soldier. I’m Bucky Barnes._ The Soldier shrugged and continued the test.

His head thundered, but concentrating on the questions helped.

The last test surprised him. It required he identify by some description an item from the first grid of images not only what the item was, but its placement in the grid.

It required only two seconds per question.

When he finished, the screen dinged and the female returned. “You did that fast,” she complimented him, and took the data pad to examine it. “Excellent results, Sergeant Barnes. Excellent. Are you ready for the next set of tests?”

“Ready to c—” He faltered a moment, then frowned. The thrum of the headache behind his skull grew louder.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

Should he report? Mission readiness parameters dictated he only had to be physically optimal. Pain could be ignored. Her earlier instructions had been clear however. He picked up the device with the button and pushed it.

“You’re in pain,” she said firmly. “Where does it hurt?”

“Head,” he reported, a thread of unease winding through his veins. The Soldier disliked handing a weakness to any technician. Weaknesses could be exploited.

“Give me a moment and I can take care of that.” A flash of a bright confidant grin. He tried to emulate it, but he wasn’t sure which muscles to use. The result of his action earned a faded smile from the technician.

Notation: Practice smiling. Current status: Ineffective.

“This is an analgesic, it’s only for the headache. We’ve been rehydrating you, but we were able to complete a full round of neural recalibration, and your brain is still repairing itself. You need to take these whenever the pain becomes too discomforting.”

Notation: Take medication to prevent incapacitation.

He nodded once, ignoring the way it seemed to score lightning across his whole head before swallowing the proffered pills. Bucky relaxed minutely, anticipating some relief.

The next several hours proceeded in similar fashion. Tests. Medication. Then the attachment of a new arm. Calibration. Testing. Finally, they removed the IVs, and offered him fresh clothes.

“I wish we could linger for another day, Sergeant Barnes, but I am preparing extensive notes on this data pad. You’ll need this to do any comparisons on your status. I have also included a series of cognitive tests, you should perform these daily for the next week.” Then she gave a little shrug before offering her right hand. He stared at it for a beat, then recalled social interactions required a handshake. “You take care of yourself. I know you’re feeling a little disconnected. But your condition will improve over the next 48 to 72 hours. Sleep and eat as often as you can.”

The Soldier made note of each command. He was to be deployed immediately. Transport would come for him. The handler overseeing his deployment greeted him with a single nod. Conversations had never been necessary in the past, so he did not attempt to begin one now. In addition to the data pad on his mission readiness, he also had a rucksack of materials, and he’d been offered fresh clothes, which he now wore.

Once aboard the craft, he settled in a jump seat and waited patiently. No other parameters for the mission had been expressed. He would likely receive his target once he was on the ground. This was also typical.

The lightning strikes in his head gave way to a sensation of static, and he tipped his head back as he closed his eyes. Sleep as often as possible. He could sleep until they arrived.

Cessation of the engines woke him, and Bucky blinked slowly. His head still hurt something awful and his shoulder ached, but he’d definitely felt worse after a night down at Bitter John’s on a good payday. The wardog nodded to him as he exited the cockpit and touched a button to open the rear of the aircraft.

Cool air rolled inside, much cooler than the humid air he’d left that morning, and then the wardog deplaned. Free of the safety restraints, Bucky picked up his rucksack and made his way to the ramp. He wasn’t clear yet on why he’d had to leave Wakanda. T’Challa’s sister—Shuri he thought her name was—had spoken to him at length, but he remained fuzzy on the details.

Four people were gathered below speaking to the wardog and as one they all glanced at him.

“Buck,” Steve called, his face splitting into a grin. Though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. If anything, there was a hint of worry in them and he flicked a look to his companions. It was swift, and barely noticeable. But the Soldier noticed everything.

Identity: Steven Rogers, AKA Captain America. Threat Assessment: Dangerous Designation: Ally(?)

Steve was his friend. His oldest friend. Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath then glanced at the others.

His gaze narrowed on the dark haired man with the goatee who stood with his hands in his pockets. He looked like Howard, but he wasn’t Howard.

Identity: Anthony “Tony” Stark, AKA Iron Man. Threat Assessment: Dangerous. Designation: Hostile.

What the hell was Steve doing here with Stark? He’d tried to kill them. _Because I killed his parents._ Guilt swarmed through him like a hive of bees swarming through the anger. His metal fingers clenched, and his abdomen tightened. He was not in top form.

But the Soldier determined no threatening moves. Yet.

Steve had taken a couple of steps forward, and he was talking. It took a moment for the Soldier to focus on the words while keeping his gaze fixed on Stark. “It’s okay Buck. You’re safe here. These are friends.”

Stark came as a friend before.

“Yeah, murder eyes over there isn’t really listening Rogers, are you sure he didn’t come out a little freezer burned?” Stark’s comment came out like forced humor, but his eyes were narrowed and calculating. Likely performing his own threat assessment.

“Stark, just let Rogers handle it for now.” The addition of a third male voice pulled the Soldier’s attention. Lean man, thick biceps, dirty blond hair, with a less square jaw than Steve’s, but a blunt nose and a piercing expression.

Identity: Clint Barton aka Hawkeye. Threat Assessment: Dangerous. Designation: Unknown. Primary directives: Avoid engagement.

“Buck?” The query in Steve’s voice pulled him back, and Bucky attempted a smile but the combination of cold air, headache, and muscle aches left him grimacing.

“Hey Stevie,” he said slowly and his voice was rough. He likely needed further hydration. “Tired. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, we’ve got a room for you.” Steve gave him a warmer smile as he approached. “Shuri said you might need some time to reacclimatize, so we’ll take it easy. Yeah?”

Accepting Steve at his word, Bucky descended the ramp and switched his rucksack from his right hand to his left before clasping Steve’s outstretched hand. Behind them sprawled a building illuminated by floodlights, which seemed an extension of the mountain, and way beyond the kind of place a guy from Brooklyn should be staying.

“Yeah…we’re good with Stark now?” He asked the question as quietly as he could, and kept a wary eye on the billionaire. The last time they’d all been in the same place it hadn’t ended well. Bucky could still remember the scorching heat of seared metal. His fingers twitched against the rucksack, but he breathed through the reaction.

The floodlights weren’t helping his headache.

“…I must return now,” the wardog was saying as Bucky tuned into the realization the man had returned to the ramp. His expression was kind but firm.

“Thank you,” Bucky told him, and then let Steve lead him down. They’d barely touched earth when the ship’s ramp closed, and then the vessel made a quiet return to the air. Shifting his position, Bucky watched the flight vanished into the darkness, but the Soldier kept Stark and Barton in his periphery.

“We can go inside, I’m sure you’re tired and Shuri said you need to eat…” Steve clasped a hand on his right shoulder, and Bucky half-nodded when a flicker of movement beyond Barton pulled his attention.

The Soldier snapped to attention, and the pain in his head seemed to mute. Compartmentalizing injury kept his body alive, but he’d allowed himself to forget there had been four figures facing the wardog. The fourth must not have moved until now. The Soldier took a couple of steps, then paused.

Identity: Natasha—no. Nata—no. Black Widow. Threat assessment: Lethal. Skillset: Varied. Designation: … His mind stuttered. Nata—Nata. Designation: Black Widow. Status: Handler?

Wariness in Barton and Stark rose, but the Soldier ignored them both as he fished into the rucksack for a data pad and took three steps toward the Widow. She was often assigned to handle his missions, and if given a choice, he would request her.

“Buck…” Steve tightened his grip on his shoulder as though preventing him from moving forward.

Widow eyed him without expression; the backlight of the house’s myriad of floods shrouded her face half in shadow.

“ _Otchet o gotovnosti missii_.” Russian flowed off his tongue even rougher than his English.

Her eyes narrowed. “ _Zachem_?”

Barton shifted his weight, moving his center of gravity onto his front leg. Stark adjusted his position to right next to Natalia. _Natalia._ But she didn’t understand the data pad and Steve’s grip meant he couldn’t proceed without risking injury to Steve.

“ _Mekhanik podgotovil zapisi o moyem statuse dlya otsenki gotovnosti k missii. Vy ne khotite, chtoby obzor?_ ” He inquired, studying her expression for any changes to indicate she had been compromised. The woman who woke him told him he would need the notes to measure his status. If Natalia was a part of his mission, she would need the information.

“Friday, you wanna translate this…” Stark muttered.

“He wants to give me the tablet,” Natalia said carefully, her attention never wavering from his. The lack of warmth in her eyes didn’t deter him. Concealment was one of the first lessons his little spider had learned, and one which protected them from retaliation. “He says it has his current status on it…”

“Buck, wanna try English?” Steve suggested, but when his friend went to take the data pad, the Soldier pulled it away and flicked a look from Natalia to Steve.

“I was talking English,” Bucky said, then shook his head slowly and gave a half-grimace half smile to Steve in apology. “Sorry Pal, my head’s splitting. The king’s sister said a lot of things to me…not sure I’m clear on all of them yet.”

“It’s fine,” Steve told him, and gave him an encouraging smile. “Let’s get you settled and you can sleep it off, yeah?”

Bucky nodded, that sounded like a fine plan. He really needed to shake off this lead weight feeling, and if the arcs of pain splitting his skull would knock it off, that would be grand, too.

“Sure, I’m beat and feel like I’m waking up after a little too much gin.” He went for a smile again, and it must have worked this time because Steve’s mouth eased into a more relaxed grin.

“Yeah I can imagine… we’re all set up inside,” Steve told him as he motioned for him to come on, but Bucky’s legs locked. The Soldier wasn’t about to turn his back on Stark or Barton.

Neither of the aforementioned men made a move, but Natalia tilted her head a fraction. It was a subtle movement, a barely there one, but he knew it. She’d seen the problem. She was far better than he at managing these situations, but she had to know he would never allow potential enemies at his back, for his safety and hers.

“You know, I think I’m ready to go have that drink Tony. You got any booze in this place?” The slow drawl of her words rippled over the Soldier as Stark’s focus twitched away to land on her.

“You do remember who you’re talking to right?” The man actually sounded a tad offended, but there was a gleam in his eyes when he looked at Natalia and the Soldier noted it even as his muscles tensed. Was Stark the target? It would make sense.

“I do, but I haven’t seen an ounce since we got here.” She looped her arm through Stark’s, and then kicked her foot against Barton’s. “C’mon, Clint. You too.”

The sniper snorted. “I’m not drinking with the two of you. I like my liver.”

“Tony’s not drinking at all,” Natalia said with a husky laugh. “This is all going to be me. You two are going to entertain me.”

Next to Bucky, Steve had gone stiff. Worry radiated off him as Barton and Stark cast warning looks—Stark’s was easier to read than Barton’s, but the cool assessment in Barton’s eyes was very familiar. The two men, however, let the dame pull them away and despite a hint of disappointment, Bucky relaxed after the three were gone.

“You okay?” Steve said, his voice low and intense.

“Hell if I know. Just…really didn’t expect to feel this bad, or to find you with Stark. Was I asleep for a few weeks or a few years?” And despite the words, he tracked the motion of the others as they went inside. Some of the static in his head receded, and hell if he wasn’t ready to just slump right there.

“Shuri said it might be this way, they managed to do some of the work on you while you were under. You’re probably just healing.” Steve put an arm around his shoulders and part of Bucky wanted to shrug him off, but the rest of him leaned into the familiarity.

“Yeah…must not have changed too much. I still miss that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.” Despite his verbal jab, he couldn’t help a small smile as Steve laughed.

They walked into the house together, and Steve guided him up the stairs and away from the sounds of the others in another room. It was all polished wood floors, grand stairs, and lots of art on the walls. There were huge windows offering plenty of views for a sniper. The interior walls looked like they’d been comprised of huge trees lashed together, then polishing the roughness smooth, but keeping all the natural shape of the wood.

“What is this place?” It shouted wealth. “And where the hell are we?” All he knew for certain was it couldn’t be Brooklyn.

“We’re in Switzerland. On some private land outside of Lucerne.”

As Steve led the way, Bucky moved out from under his arm. He tracked the number of steps from the front door, the shifts in direction, the number of doors in the hall, positions of windows, and types of art. Even with the embers of white hot pain flaring, the Soldier didn’t let himself be complacent. He needed to know all the ingresses and egresses.

“You win the lottery or something?”

A snort from Steve as he pushed open too large doors at the end of the hall, which opened into a large living area, and another three more doors, arrayed around the room. The white carpeting seemed a little much, and Bucky toed off his boots by the door on the spit of wood flooring.

“Bedrooms,” Steve said, pointing to one door then another. “Middle door is a bathroom. Each of the bedrooms have their own, too. They have a whirlpool tub. You might need it for muscle aches, Shuri said you might be cramping for the next couple of days.”

Bucky nodded, but the Soldier took inventory. Each of the bedrooms also featured over large windows. The arrogance of wealth, ostentatious desire for a view at the cost of security. The living room also had windows—no, paned doors. Bucky set his rucksack down and then belatedly recalled he still had the data pad. He tucked it into the bag, then walked over to the glass doors. Cameras were placed discreetly in several locations throughout the room.

A wide balcony jutted out over a dark expanse. And there were no curtains to cover the windows.

Not a secure location for rest either.

Another pain pierced his head, and he forced himself to breathe through it.

“I haven’t picked out a room yet, so your choice,” Steve said quietly. He stood in the center of the room, his expression troubled though he seemed to be going for calm.

Steve had always been a shit liar.

“Mind if I look at both first?” He asked because it was polite, but he planned to do it regardless and Steve waved him on.

“You hungry? We’ve got full stocks of food here. I can run down and grab us something. I think Tony put in some lasagnas.”

“I could eat,” Bucky told him. His stomach rebelled at the idea, but Shuri told him he needed to eat and he could use a few minutes without Steve to get his bearings. Each bedroom proved to be a security nightmare. Had these people never heard of window coverings? He tested the glass with a finger tap. It didn’t ring like standard glass. Reinforced perhaps?

“I’ll go grab us something. There’s water out here, we’ve got a bar for what it’s worth. I think there’s beer in the fridge, but I didn’t recognize the names.” Steve needed reassurance. His worry communicated in every syllable.

“I’ll be fine, Punk. Go grab some food. I think I need to get some sleep.” All appropriate responses, because Steve called an affirmative before his steps moved away. The door opened, then closed behind him.

The bed was in a direct line of sight to the window. But he could strip the covers and sack out in the corner near the desk. Or move the desk… the Soldier moved to lean against the wall and measured the distances. It still had an angle he could work depending on the perches available. No, he would be too exposed resting here. Not to mention there were other cameras placed in each corner offering maximum coverage. Monitoring was a fact of his life on base; it would be imprudent to expect this to be any different.

Another dagger drove into his brain, and he pressed the heel of his right hand to his eye. Opening a door in the bedroom, he found an interior closet. There were some clothes hanging in there, and a long padded bench as well as other empty shelves. It was wide and long, and had zero windows. No cameras.

That would do.

After retrieving his rucksack, he stored it in the closet and removed the analgesics Shuri had given him. Squinting, he read the instructions and then took four of each with water from the bar. He was back in the living area when Steve returned, the sound of his steps steady in the hall beyond. The scent of lasagna grew stronger as he pushed inside.

“Took me a minute to heat it up,” Steve said by way of apology. “Want to eat there?” He waved to the bar where Bucky still stood.

“Sure,” he said, relaxing a little and grabbing another water bottle out for his friend. He made a show of sipping water while Steve tucked into the food, and let him eat a few bites before Bucky started on his own. The first forkful he chewed tentatively, looking for any warning tangs of poison. The lasagna was hot, and tasted rich with cheese and meat sauce. It wasn’t like his Ma made…though he couldn’t quite recall it clearly. The fleeting memory turned ephemeral, and vanished nearly as soon as he conjured it.

Steve had brought them large helpings, and Bucky consumed as much of his as he dared before his stomach protested. It would be difficult to miss the assessing looks Steve gave him, so after Buck finished his last bite, he drained the remaining water bottle. His throat felt better, his stomach approved, and some of his flagging energy returned. The analgesics seemed to have pushed away the headache so his status improved markedly versus his arrival.

“You got something on your mind?” Though Bucky was pretty sure about the answer, he figured he’d give Steve the chance to put him off. He’d already caused Steve enough problems.

“Just wanted to go over some ground rules for while we’re here, but it can wait until morning if you want to get some shut eye.” Ah, his friend didn’t want to have this conversation, based on the thread of guilt winding through the words.

“It’s fine. I’m the one who wanted to go back into cryo until it was safe, remember?” And Shuri hadn’t said anything about the triggers, which meant he wasn’t safe. Not yet.

Steve winced. “Shuri apologized for that on her last call, but she said as soon as they stabilized in Wakanda, we could head back and they would do more work. But she also wanted to see where you were from their first round of treatments.”

Had she explained the steps they’d taken? Maybe. He hadn’t been tracking all that well at first. First thing in the morning, he’d review the data pad and see if she left him some clues there. Optimal condition was required for mission readiness.

“I’m sure she did what she could,” Bucky said. It was better to ease the frown Steve wore. The kid could worry. “We’ll figure it out. These rooms my cell?”

“No,” Steve said almost too sharply. So, maybe they were, but Steve didn’t want to frame it that way. “We want to make it comfortable for everyone. There are two wings, we’re in this one, the rest are in the other. The kitchen’s communal, but for the first few days, they’d rather you were with me when in the rest of the house.”

Natalia’s room was away from the Soldier's. He’d have to locate it tomorrow, map the route and verify her security.

“All right,” he agreed, because it was easier. “Not feeling up to much in the way of running around yet.” All appropriate responses.

“Hopefully you’ll be doing better in no time. We have a fully functional gym here, lots of equipment. So when you’re ready, we can head down there and get in a workout…”

Optimal physical fitness would require some conditioning. Always necessary after an awakening. He needed to test the functionality of the new arm. Shuri had been correct, it was lighter and felt natural and unnatural in the same moments. Belatedly he realized Steve had gone quiet and looked at him expectantly.

Oh, he needed to respond. “I’ll let you know when I’m up to it.”

He’d chosen the correct words.

“Anything else, I need to know?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sigh. “Just… don’t leave the rooms without me for a bit, yeah?”

Again, Bucky could do that, but… “How long do I wait to contact you if you’ve been gone an extended period?” He didn't fancy being stuck in the room if Steve got called away or something.

“Friday,” Steve said.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” A terse, feminine voice asked in an almost arch tone. Bucky jumped, then the Soldier went rigid as he glared at one of the cameras.

“Easy, Buck. Friday’s an AI, she can contact me if I’m in the gym or something when you get up. Friday this is Bucky Barnes.”

“Sergeant Barnes.” AI meant artificial intelligence. But the woman’s voice possessed far more attitude than a computer should have.

“She doesn’t like me.” Bucky said as the Soldier pondered Friday’s tactical strengths and weaknesses. Too many unknowns for his taste. “Didn’t sound like she likes you either.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Steve told him, but that pained look in his eyes affirmed it was exceptionally personal. He didn't want to share the situation and seemed to hope Buck would take him at his word. “Just ask Friday to contact me, okay? We’re just trying to make this situation more comfortable for everyone.” He'd stated it earlier. Everyone must not include the two present. So they wanted to make Stark comfortable? Or perhaps Barton?

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m not safe, I accept that. I can do what you ask.” Bucky didn’t want to make more trouble. The Soldier conceded the point. For now. “I’ll try not to bother you, Friday.”

“You will not trouble me at all, Sergeant Barnes.” It sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. Yeah. She definitely didn’t like him.

“Thank you Friday, you can go into sleep mode for the night please.” Steve said with a sigh.

“Monitoring will remain active, Captain. Boss’s orders.”

Steve grimaced.

“It’s fine, Steve.” He repeated and managed another smile. “Another layer of security. But I’m going to grab some shut eye. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah. That’ll be great.” But the worry didn’t leave Steve’s eyes, even when he gave him a smile. “Hey Buck,” he called when Bucky reached the door to the room he’d chosen. “I’m glad you’re here.”

It was a lie. But Bucky wasn’t certain if it was the part where it was about him or about the location.

Maybe both.

“I’ll be glad when I’m feeling a little more human.”

“Night Buck.”

He couldn’t help but feel like he had disappointed Steve. Again. “Night Steve.”

Once inside the room, Bucky closed the door and released a small sigh but he refused to allow a physical reaction. Full time monitoring meant he had to remain in control at all times. The AI would likely report his sleeping in the closet.

He would have to take the risk. It harmed no one and did not violate any of the parameters Steve and Shuri established.

After making use of the facilities, he washed up before using the toothbrush and cleaning his teeth. The simple acts relaxed him incrementally. His joints ached, as did many of his muscles. He’d perform a full range of motion stretch and test his physical responses in the morning. Shuri found them acceptable for the first day; he’d investigate what he needed then.

Turning off the light in the bathroom, he stepped into the bedroom and shut off the light there before gathering the cover and a pillow off the bed. The duvet would be more than sufficient.

“Do you require assistance with the linens, Sergeant Barnes?” Friday inquired when he was three steps away from the closet.

“No thanks, doll. I’m fine,” he drawled. “Just not up to sleeping on a soft bed.”

He carried the items into the closet and arranged them against one wall. He considered stripping down, then decided against it. Fully dressed gave him more options.

After shutting the closet door, he turned off the light and retrieved his rucksack. By memory, he located the knives secured in the bottom of it and slid one under his pillow and put the other at his finger’s reached. He angled his head away from the door, and slept with his feet pointing at it.

If anyone entered, he would be up and facing them immediately. It would be better if the door locked, but he could work on the security in the morning.

Right hand behind his head, he stared up at the darkness. The pain in his head seemed to be receding, and his eyelids were heavy but the Soldier resisted the urge. Too many unknown variables.

Natalia refused the data pad and her blank expression allowed him no clues behind the decision. The Soldier did not want to compromise the mission, but he needed further parameters. Until then, he would be patient and watch.

Bucky squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his metal fist. _Who the fuck is Natalia?_ An image of red hair flashed across his mind’s eye. The name meant something to him. It came again and again. Every time he held one of those memories close, it evaporated before he could make sense of it.

Fatigue and tension warred for his muscles. It had been like this in Bucharest for many nights. Waiting for something that never came.

Word.

Orders.

Her.

She never formed fully.

Then why did he offer her the data pad?

Go to sleep, Barnes, he told himself. Figure it out tomorrow. He was with Steve. Steve was his friend.

He could sleep.

An hour later, he still focused on the darkness. The Soldier should have walked the whole of the perimeter, identified where the others were sleeping—where she was. If something happened, it would increase his response time to an unacceptable number. Bucky shifted restlessly, but the Soldier stilled his movements.

They required rest for optimal performance. The level of surveillance made performing recon in the night a risk. Violating the parameters could lead to his removal. Better to play the game, and lull them to complacency. Even the sternest guards grew lax when confronted with compliance.

Natalia could protect herself. She would find a way to reach him if she needed him. He didn’t doubt her knowledge. His little spider could find anything.

She always had.

Satisfied for now, the Soldier drifted into a sentry doze to let his body rest but not so deep he wouldn’t detect intrusion.

Finally, Bucky let out a long sigh as the tension bled out of his muscles and he let the drift of sleep take him.

A skinny kid with a bloody nose and too much attitude gave Bucky hell in his dreams as he dragged him off to the Stark Expo.

The Soldier didn’t dream.

He waited.


	17. You could at least recognize me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into the chalet is easier said than done. Nat can't outrun her past, even when she tries, and they're all getting too deep behind her defenses.

Chapter Seventeen

_You could at least recognize me_

 

Natasha

 

The sound of her shoes alternately slapping and hushing as the trail she followed went from rocky to grassy provided the soundtrack for her run. Somewhere along her various travels, she’d lost her headphones. Her phone was attached to her armband, keeping it fastened to her despite the slickness of her skin. The sports bra hadn’t seemed enough coverage when she began the run, the cool air nipping at her. But she needed freedom, and running offered it to her.

Jogging away from the house in the predawn hours, a part of her wanted to keep going, She had no equipment, no bites, just the knives—one strapped to her back beneath the sports bra and the other fitted to her thigh in a sheath which moulded to her body. If she vanished into the mountains, she could make her way across the Alps, steal what she needed and vanish.

Following the curve of the trail, she released a humorless puff of sound which passed for a laugh. They’d never let her go. Resentment soured through her stomach, followed by an almost immediate wave of shame. Ruthlessly suppressing both, she focused on her breathing and kept her pace even. An hour of running and her sides burned, her chest ached, and she hadn’t come close to putting distance between herself and her dreams.

Fuck. Ja—Bucky’s sudden appearance had been proved as unsettling as the realization he’d been the one to shoot Fury, and later… No. She shoved aside thoughts of the street battle, where she’d pulled him away from civilians, Steve…everyone. She had to protect then all and the Soldier was relentless in his pursuits. The way he’d focused every attack, she recognized the pattern.

All those people were in danger because she was the mission.

Pushing herself, she ran faster. Her lungs protested. The air was thinner, but she could handle it.

Clint had been glued to her side since the blackout in Vienna. His worry and concern overlaid everything. Stark, by contrast, had been snarkier and teasing—yet she hadn’t missed the way his gaze rested on her, measuring and sympathetic as if she had provided him with a problem he couldn’t solve. And Steve?

Fuck. His resolute politeness and infinite kindness killed her. As furious with him as she’d been— _admit it, hurt, too_ a nagging little voice sliced at her—over Bucharest, Berlin, and later Leipzig. She missed him, too. Missed the way his lips would twist into an impatient smile when she teased him or how intent his focus was when they plotted strategy.

She’d missed all of them. Every single man in that house had been a fundamental part of her life. Somehow they’d breached her usually airtight security, making a brittle farce of her emotional shields. The Red Room had many rules, rules that when broken could lead to them breaking the offender. The rules kept her alive, even decades after she’d burned her ties to them. Those lessons helped her to survive. His lessons… but even as the thought perched, it took flight before she could truly close her grasp on it.

Don’t trust anyone—even an ally can become an enemy.

Don’t get sloppy—leave no evidence of your presence.

Never get attached—you are a weapon, a tool, and have no place in this world.

Maintain mission readiness—the battle will always come.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Her survival had hinged on those rules, and she’d clung to them when she’d been on her own, when SHIELD scraped her up, even though Clint made it a struggle. The Avengers transformed the process into a rout as they dug at her rules until bit-by-bit they eroded.

Banner—she pulled him back into the melee, cost him his hard-won peace and nearly paid for it with her life, a price she’d learned would have cost Bruce so much higher. Then she shoved him into that pit because the battle had needed the other guy and she had to maintain mission readiness. Ultimately, she’d driven him away.

Wanda—the girl meant well, her tale a tragedy, but her power almost beyond her own understanding. Natasha had to open herself to the possibility of friendship, to try and nudge her along and in doing so, she’d gotten sloppy. Others paid for that mistake.

Rhodey—he was a soldier—airman and he’d done his duty. But she’d let her attachments get in the way again. She’d let Steve go and directly contributed to the injury.

So many people. Fury. Hill. Coulson. Even Clint. One by one she let them eat through her barriers, and every damn time someone snuck in…someone got hurt.

Now there were four men in Tony’s expensive chalet, a stacked powder keg just waiting for the spark to ignite it.

Her route brought her past the house as the sun began to crest the trees painting the world in rich oranges, pinks, and red as they kissed the twilight sky blue.

The pain in her side kept her moving. The ferocious pull of her muscles complaining where bruises had stiffened them goaded her. Almost three days since Paris and she couldn’t afford the weakness. Pain could be compartmentalized. Muscles could be disciplined. The mind was as much her weapon as her body. She couldn’t let the breach of caring shatter her defenses.

There was far too much work to do.

Mission readiness was everything.

A masculine voice called out from behind her, but she filed it away as she ran the path she’d already followed in her first hour. It would lead her up, and then down on inclines and descents of varying steepness. The uneven path coupled with the punishing pace would push her.

“Nat!” Steve called as he caught up. Of course he did. She couldn’t outrun him, even if she weren’t already winded.

“Steve,” she said, sparing the breath for the greeting.

“You sure you should be pushing this hard?” And there it was, that damn attachment. He wore his concern like his shield, ready to defend everyone around him whether they deserved it or not.

Surely she fell into the not category.

“Not pushing any harder than usual,” she parried away his anxiety. “Need to be ready.” Though her lungs argued against the need to speak, she ignored the warning. Mission readiness meant maximizing her oxygen consumption. She’d mastered holding her breath for six minutes and survived two assassinations by drowning and a waterboarding thanks to the skill.

Running wasn’t going to kill her.

“Fine, mind if I join you then?” Since he matched pace with her, barely even winded she rolled her eyes. “Hey,” he protested, a near laugh in his voice. “I saw that.”

“Wasn’t hiding it.” She saved the rest of her response as they hit a steep climb, and she refused to slow her speed, which required all of her concentration to reach the top. The breeze picked up, the chill a delight against her overheated skin.

“Suppose I deserve that,” he conceded, then continued after the path leveled out. “How long have you been running?”

She didn’t have her watch with her, the one tracking her pace and mileage. Not even her phone had a GPS active chip in it. She’d removed them from every burner she picked up. The world had enough ways to look for her, she had no intentions of helping. “Since five, I think. It was five when I got up and dressed before leaving the house.”

He didn’t respond, but a quick glance showed her his tense expression. The lack of chiding made her feel marginally better, even if an argument might have satisfied the need to strike something. Avoid distractions, she reminded herself.

“Can I ask you about Bucky?” Steve said, as they reached a series of slopes where the path wound up and down in gradual inclines.

Of course he wanted to talk about him. _Cease Natalia. His attachment to Barnes is part of him. You cannot undo it, you must only manage it._ “You can ask,” she told him.

“But you don’t promise to answer.”

Since he understood the implication, she saw no reason to further enlighten him. She ignored the twinge in her gut, glad they were running and she couldn’t see his disappointed eyebrows. Save her from Captain America’s disappointed face, who knew it could plunge through Red Room training like a hot ice pick through packed snow?

“Steve,” she said, losing her battle against the nips of guilt. She’d attacked him and tried to take his head off. Yes, she had a right to be angry at him for some of the shit he’d pulled, but so did he. Instead of being mad, he’d been perfect, forgiving, and caring. He’d even told her himself about Barnes’ imminent arrival and assured her, Tony and Clint aside, if Nat didn’t want him there, then he would take Barnes and go. No questions asked.

A part of her had almost leapt at the idea. She wasn’t sure what to do with the ex-assassin’s presence. But she couldn’t leave Steve out in the cold. Not when he and Tony were working so hard to bridge their differences.

“It’s okay Nat,” he assured her. He’d been reassuring her no matter his own disappointment.

She waited for the path to level out after the next climb before she said, “No, it’s not okay. I told you it was more important we all stayed together than how we did it. I meant it.” Attached. Too attached. Her defenses kept crumbling. It would take her years to get them to where they needed to be.

But she was leaving in the next day or three. She could give them this.

She owed them that much.

“So ask, I’ll…” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. “I’ll try to answer.”

They covered another quarter mile before Steve spoke again, and by this point, the stitch in Nat’s side had given away to just pure burn. “Shuri—that’s T’Challa’s sister—she told me he would be a little confused for the first couple of days. They did some neural recalibrations, trying to root out his triggers but she didn’t have as much time as she would have liked before they had to wake him up.”

Her gut tightened. Poor Ja—Barnes, someone was always messing with his brain. Would he ever find any peace?

“There’s scarring,” Steve admitted. “Scarring in his brain. I don’t even want to think about what they did to him to cause that.”

Natasha didn’t have to think about it. She knew. Or at least she was pretty certain she did. In her mind’s eye she saw the horrible chair and heard worse screams.

Sometimes they were her own.

“But some time in ’42, when Zola captured Buck the first time. He gave him some derivative of the serum. Shuri did an analysis and compared it to mine. It’s close, but not quite the same thing.”

“So he can heal the damage?” Nat didn’t mean to interrupt, but the sudden tightening in her chest and bottoming out of her stomach had nothing to do with the running. The Winter Soldier could heal.

“Yeah, I’m hoping so. That’s another reason why she was okay with bringing him out of cryo.” A small ragged note filled Steve’s voice. “Before Zemo, Buck spent two years free from Hydra. Two years of no one messing with his mind or freezing him. He had a life, an apartment, and maybe it wasn’t a great one…”

“…but far better than being a tool,” she finished for him, intimately aware of how much nicer having very little but your own freedom was so much better than any life lived under her former masters. Hydra was likely more of the same. If not the total same.

That sickening thought had lurched in her stomach since the fall of SHIELD.

“You understand.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she told him, resisting the urge to tack his last name onto the sentiment and buy herself some emotional distance. “I do. I’ve been there…”

“Last night, when he offered you the data pad, what did he really say?”

The words had burned themselves onto her mind alongside the wild anger on Tony’s face, the absolute predatory stillness in Clint’s posture, and the deep, and abiding concern on Steve’s as he let dueling needs to protect both Barnes and herself tear at him.

She repeated his first phrase, but had to drop her pace a bit. The pain radiating along her legs had turned into numbness as she pushed past all fatigue. “It means mission readiness report.”

Steve flinched.

“A standard requirement from asset to handler.” Which made her sick even thinking about it. Had he traded identifying her as a target to that of a handler?

“And you said?”

“Why,” she repeated. “I asked him why. I didn’t respond with a coded phrase or even really acknowledge it beyond asking him why he was giving it to me.” In truth, she’d wanted to know why he recognized her at all this time when he’d failed over and over again. For a split-second she’d been below that ridge in Odessa, staring up into those too cool blue eyes as they stared at her before his bullet and raw pain ripped through her.

Only the night before they’d seemed more alive than during their last conflicts. More alive than she’d ever seen them… right? Somewhere inside her, she acknowledged the lie she’d been telling herself.

Shuttling aside her distraction, she hurried to what he would want to know next. “He said the mechanic prepared the report—did I not want to review it? That was when you all distracted him and he pulled the pad back.”

“The mechanic—maybe Shuri.” He didn’t seem to need his supposition confirmed and they were coming to the last of the climbs she did. The rest of the trail would circle down and back to the chalet. The air had gotten progressively chillier as she ran, but she savored the sensation of like icy breath against her flushed skin. Dark clouds had begun to blot out the kiss of the sun and blue skies. It was rare for snow to come this early, but not unheard of and she could taste it on the wind.

They ran side by side, and Steve could have long since left her, but he kept matching his pace to hers even when she slowed. Exhaustion wound through her muscles even as she pushed past her limits. In a real pursuit, she would never have time for being tired.

“What you told us yesterday—about not being able to take the shot at the Winter Soldier in Odessa…”

Her stomach cramped and a fresh flush of chill hit her—only this came from the inside. Thankfully, hot and sweaty did a lot to disguise the reaction. “Yes?”

“Did you know Bucky—before? Before you defected?” The words sounded like he had to push them out, and her heart squeezed. He really was trying so hard for her.

“No, Steve. I never knew Bucky.” She chose the phrase carefully.

They went another tenth of a mile before he called her on it. “What about the Winter Soldier?”

No, she did not want to have this conversation. The desire to end it clawed at her throat. She could lash out, trip him up. Divert her path. Fake an injury. A dozen scenarios popped through her mind and she discarded them all. Fear was a weapon, and it had been wielded against her with such skillful hands she would never be rid of the scars.

“I don’t know,” she admitted and followed the curve of the path, staring straight ahead. The beauty of the spot, the isolation faded around her. “Maybe. The Red Room…they altered my memories many times. Sometimes for assignments.” It was like choking past bile to get the words out. Everything in her said don’t hand him the information. Don’t open herself up to the possibility of attack.

“Tasha…” Steve said, compassion so vibrant in his voice she shied away from it. The last thing she wanted was his sympathy.

Yet, she kept peeling away at herself, leaving herself exposed and all because she owed him.

_Never get attached, little spider. They will use it against you._

But she ignored the hoarse-voiced warning, because it had been accompanied by a feeling of such swift fondness she almost tripped. “We have what we have, when we have it Steve.” Even breathless from running, she managed to perfect a bland tone. “I am not certain of my memories. The intel has no confirmation. What I remember may be exactly what happened…” She spread her hands then pulled them back to concentrate on the last half-mile to the bend where the house nestled.

What distance she’d gained on her first circuit had surely been eroded on this one. She’d joked about getting drunk the night before, but she’d limited herself to one glass of vodka.

Pity. If she’d gotten drunk, maybe she’d have slept late and put this soul baring off another few hours.

Amazing how she could be raw and bloody and yet show no sign of her injuries.

“Or they may not…God Tasha I’m so sorry.”

They were still a quarter of a mile out and she stopped, falling to a walk. Hands on her hips, she tried to catch her breath and shook her head. “It’s not on you, Steve.”

“No, but I’m the one who keeps digging at the scars.” He fell into step with her again, his shoulders slumping. “I have to help him. I just don’t know how…and he remembers you somehow. I thought…” He trailed off, his ears flushing red and since he was still disgustingly sweat free after the run, it had nothing to do with the exercise.

“That I was lying to you, again. That I have some nefarious past with your best friend and I’ve deliberately hidden it from you.” It wasn’t a question, and though she attempted to go for a teasing tone. It came out harsh.

Steve winced, and he opened his mouth to apologize, and then he sighed. “Nat I never want to think you’re lying to me…”

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m used to it.” She dropped her hands from her hips and studied the house as they approached. The darkening sky overhead gave the chalet an isolated feel as if it were some oversized cabin the alpine woods.

“It’s not fine,” Steve argued. Poor darling hated being caught between his ethics, his morals, and his friendships. “I trust you—I _want_ to trust you and have you trust me.”

“Then trust me to be me, which means I’m going to lie to you. Sometimes I may not even know whose lies I’m telling.” The truth in that slapped her across the face and she pressed a hand over the side she injured. The laceration had closed, but the long pink line of new flesh hadn’t faded yet. She’d taken a risk just going running with so little clothing on, but Steve hadn’t commented on it yet.

He stopped abruptly and looked at her. “Did you really work for the KGB?”

With all the other digging he’d been doing… “Yes, Steve.”

“Even though you would have only been 7 years old in 1991?” A kernel of hope asked to be burst in his question. “Is it possible that’s just another memory they gave you? I doubt children worked for the KGB.”

And that was what made him Captain America. His stubbornness combined with that infernal optimism. She stopped a few paces ahead of him, and pivoted to face him. “Steve, I have no idea how old I was when I entered the Red Room. I literally don’t remember a life before then. They could have cooked me up in an experiment and implanted the notion of parents for all I know. I told you I killed my first mark at the age of nine.”

Fuck, she hated thinking about the Red Room. Madame B. The music. The lessons. The blood. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“So you weren’t born in 1984.” Not a question.

“What Zola told you was true, from a certain point of view.” She used the reference on purpose and earned a ghost of a grin. “I’m pretty sure I was wiped in 1984 and dropped into an assignment in the KGB.”

“But Zola was pulling from your records at SHIELD.”

She nodded.

“Wouldn’t Hydra know the real date if they…” Then he stopped, as if the answer occurred to him already.

“I don’t know what they would do. If they were burying my past, I would imagine they wanted to erase the records of it.”

“How the hell do you get through the day?” The bewildered question made her smile.

“Now, Steve. We know you don’t like that kind of language.” The chide did what she wanted it to do, he laughed and it chased away a little of the horror in his eyes.

“But I’m serious,” he said, his voice lowering as he narrowed the distance between them. This close she could feel the heat rolling off him as her body rapidly chilled in the increasingly cold wind. “How do you do it? How do you get up every day not knowing, and go out and save the world? I miss every damn thing I had, and even now—four years later, I feel like…I feel like it was yesterday that I closed my eyes to one world and woke up to another. But I remember that world—I remember the Commandos, Bucky, and Brooklyn. I know where I came from.”

“I’m glad you do.” She folded her arms before she wrapped them around him. “I know what those memories mean to you, even when they cause you pain.” Maybe especially because they hurt so much. It had to be real to hurt, right? “I wouldn’t wish this…me…on anyone.” Not even the man who’d tried to kill her three times.

Steve lifted a hand to her, hovering close as if he wanted to touch. “May I?”

Arching a brow, Natasha kept herself still rather than withdraw as every cell in her body longed to do. She’d been exposed for too long already, and now she was standing out her in the middle of nowhere with zero cover, discussing the past she can barely remember. Running her tongue over her teeth, she nodded once.

With infinite slowness, Steve wrapped his hand around her nape. The pressure gentle, but very there. A split second transported her back to Berlin, and the feeling the table as she slammed into it, a metal hand locked around her throat.

_But this is Steve…Steve wouldn’t do that to me._ Every survival instinct she possessed had gone on high alert. _You would have said he wouldn’t do it to Tony, either._ Still, she refused to play passive to her fears, and she locked gazes with the super soldier in front of her and waited.

He leaned in to her, forehead to forehead and her heart squeezed at the slow way he telegraphed his every movement. At the same time, a fresh wave of panic bubbled up from the depths of her soul when Steve gazed at her evenly as if he were truly looking at her.

Too close.

Too much attachment.

“You going to be okay if Buck is remembering you?” The quiet question held so many meanings.

Hell no. “Not really sure it matters if I’ll be okay or not.” Especially since she’d be leaving soon. “The past is the past. I can’t change it. I can only deal with what’s right in front of me.”

With a gentle thumb, he traced a line against the column of her neck. “If he does, I really only want him to answer one question.”

Deflect. “Why Rogers, are you going to prove to me after all this time that you’ve got a dirty mind?” She let the smirk twitch her lips as a healthy flush filled in his cheeks, but his eyes suddenly regained a hint of their familiar sparkle.

“Don’t get your hopes up Romanoff,” he said with a wink, and loosened his grip on her as he retreated from the intimacy of the moment. “I just want to know which of us is the fossil. You know…for sure.”

His surprising remark startled her so much, she laughed until she snorted.

Mirth filled his eyes, and he jutted his chin at her. “C’mon before you actually turn blue. You stopped sweating and I swear I see a shiver.” Then he gave her a playful nudge toward the house.

Still laughing, she shook her head but joined him on the walk to the porch. The humor eased a balm over the raw and prickly parts, but she had to admit, she tended to forget how dry Steve’s humor could be.

Glancing up, she caught sight of a figure in one of the large windows. They were retreating even as she focused, and she sighed.

“Want some pancakes?” Steve asked as he opened the door to let her in. The warmth of the chalet wrapped around her like an unexpected hug.

“Maybe after I shower. You should probably go check on Barnes,” she told him. Tony had been clear, Barnes was not to leave the suite he shared with Steve without Steve. To her surprise, Clint had agreed with the plan and Steve, though he clearly didn’t like it, hadn’t fought against it too much.

“Yeah…” he’d started up the stairs, but paused on the third one to glance at her. “Natasha?”

Stretching her arms since they’d stiffened a little while they stood outside, Nat paused to look back at him. Her rooms were in the other wing, with a totally separate staircase. “Yeah?”

“If he’s up for coming down, you okay with it?”

A part of her wanted to tell him to stop putting it on her what Barnes did or didn’t do. But she held her tongue. Steve was trying.

Tony was trying.

Everyone was trying.

_It’s more important we stay together than how we do it._

“That’s fine. But make sure I get my pancakes first, because if he eats like you—the rest of us are going to starve.” It was the right thing to say, Steve grinned.

“Done. See you soon.”

“Yep,” she called after him, then made her way through the chalet to the other stairs. Her thighs protested with every step she took, but she kept her grumbling to herself. She might need a hot soak later in the day after she hit the gym.

“Hey Nat,” Tony said as she reached the top of the stairs. He leaned against the railing, his position ideal for looking over the wide foyer. “Everything okay?”

“I’m okay, Tony,” she assured him, meeting his worried gaze. He studied her a moment, head tilted as if he weighed her words.

Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Are you sure? Because you don’t smell okay. In fact, you smell like you rolled down the mountain.”

Rolling her eyes, she passed him on her way to her own suite—tucked conveniently between his and Clint’s as if she wouldn’t notice—and lifted her middle finger in his direction. “It’s the smell of hard work and dedication.”

“Oh, that must be it. I usually smell like brilliant ideas and fabulous skill.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “Or booze.”

“Still dry and sober over here, Red. You were the one wanting to booze last night.”

At the door to her room, she paused to look at him. He’d followed her as far as his own suite door, and studied her. He’d been making a habit of that lately.

Him.

Steve.

Clint.

What the hell were the looking for?

“You doing okay?” The blackout had rattled him. But then he had a history of someone he trusted trying to kill him. And a history of not trusting her. Not hard to put those two pieces together. Add Barnes, and she might need to question how Tony stayed sober during all of this.

Maybe she should join him for a while, avoid the vodka or the wine. A little solidarity so she wasn’t encouraging him to fall off the wagon.

“Always. Friday told me how long you’d been out, so I got concerned.”

“Not running away on you yet.” And that was as truthful as she was going to be on that subject.

“But soon, right Red?”

Not answering, she motioned to her door. “I’m going to shower, and then Steve is going to make pancakes, and maybe bring Barnes to breakfast. Want to join?”

“You really hate me some days don’t you?” With that he didn’t answer her question and walked into his own room, then called, “Save me some.”

“Will do.” Then she was inside, and rolled her head from side to side before heading to the bathroom. Inside, she switched on the water and stripped out of her workout clothes after toeing off her running shoes. Her knives went on the bathroom counter and her phone next to them. She needed to check in with Isaiah today and spend a few hours on her laptop. The buzz of the run still hummed under her skin, and it had helped the restlessness, but not enough.

Turning a critical eye on her body, she studied her injuries. Nearly all of the bruises had faded to yellow or had vanished save for the one on her knee. It was still an ugly shade of green, but it would be gone in the next twenty-four hours or so provided she didn’t reinjure it. Clint had snipped away the last few stitches on her laceration the night before prior to their retiring to their rooms to sleep.

She’d also shoved Clint out. There was more than enough space, she didn’t need him to hold her hand while she slept. Not even if the companionship had been more welcome than she wanted to admit. It was hard to remember how alone she was when he pressed a hand against her back while she slept.

Stepping under the hot spray, she hissed as it hit sore and tired muscles. Bracing her hands on the cool tile, she let the water roll over her. Paris had been unexpected. Even less expected had been the guys following her to Vienna, and now they were in Switzerland. She needed to resume her work while the trail remained warm. Too much longer and she ran the risk of losing her targets entirely.

Making use of the expensive products the bathroom had been stocked with, she washed her hair and then took care of washing away the sweat. The soap let her check for any other open wounds, but nothing stung.

Huh, maybe Tony had been staring at where her injuries had been. A dozen questions hovered under his tongue, and he was being curiously non-verbal about all of them.

She’d told Friday to turn off all the monitoring in her suite. She hadn’t liked being watched at the tower or at the compound. Voice activated mode only meant Friday would only tune in if she called for her. No one had objected, and she didn’t doubt Friday had informed Tony.

Probably another reason he’d grown concerned when she’d been out on her run for so long.

Fifteen minutes of a shower later, she turned off the water. She’d rather just stand there but her skin had turned a lovely shade of red under the scalding temperatures so she wrapped one thick fluffy towel around her torso and tucked it in before wrapping a second around her hair.

Gathering her sweaty clothes, she carried them to the bedroom to set them aside and find something clean to wear. The moment she exited the bathroom, every hair on her body stood up. She wasn’t alone in the suite.

Her knives were in the bathroom, one glock was stowed in her bag at the foot of her bed, and the other was under her pillow. Pivoting to the left, she met Barnes’ cool gaze…no. Not Barnes.

He stood next to the open closet door; the door itself shielded him from the window.

“Barnes.”

He frowned at the name. “Widow.”

“Need to borrow a dress?” She asked, before tossing the sweaty clothes on the padded bench at the foot of her bed.

His expression grew puzzled, and then he shook his head. His confusion might be cute if he weren’t standing fully dressed—and no doubt armed—in her bedroom, having made it all the way from his wing without setting off Friday and she weren’t wearing only in a towel without a weapon in hand.

“Nyet,” he said slowly, as if shaking off his stupor. He extended the data pad to her. “ _Otchet o gotovnosti missii_.” Once again offering her his mission readiness.

His Russian shivered over her with a familiarity she did not want to examine, asking instead, “ _Soldat, pochemu vy khotite, chtoby ya poluchil otchet o vashey gotovnosti?”_

She studied his pale eyes, and intent expression. The question puzzled him. Then she could have slapped herself. Instead of asking him why he _wanted_ her to have the readiness report, she shifted the meaning to why did she _need_ it.

Almost immediately his expression relaxed. “ _Ty Chernaya Vdova_.” _You are Black Widow._

“ _Da, ya Chernaya Vdova._ ” She confirmed his statement, and held out her hand. It was important enough for the Soldier to sneak into her room to give her the device when she hadn’t taken it the night before, then it was important enough for her to accept it.

Relief flickered through his pale eyes and he relinquished it to her grip. Once she had the device, she pulled it to her chest, and held it.

“ _Eto vse soldat?_ ” _Is that all soldier?_ The Russian rolled off her tongue so comfortably; she sometimes forgot how much she missed thinking in her own language.

“ _Kakova moya missiya?_ ” _What was his mission?_ Her heart broke for him. The Barnes she’d seen talking to Steve the night before, the Barnes Steve talked about on the run—they weren’t this man gazing at her. No, these were the same eyes that had stared at her from behind the aim of a gun just before he’d shot her.

Twice.

The same eyes which had glared down at her emptily while he strangled the life out of her.

But there was no malice in gaze, only patient inquiry.

Fuck. She looked at the device, then at him. If he had this little control after being woken…were they really playing with fire? How could he have been better for two years in Bucharest and reverted so much here?

Or was it her fault for being present and triggering something? That familiar tug in her muscles assured her she knew more about him than her fractured mind did. _James, what am I going to do with you?_

He didn’t repeat his question, just stood there, still as hell. The longer they stared each other down, the more likely it was his absence would be noticed.

“ _Vernites' v svoi komnaty. Vasha missiya ... nayti James Buchanan Barnes_.” His shoulders straightened at her command to return to his rooms and to find James Buchanan Barnes, and he nodded once. It was the least she could for Steve. She tapped a finger against the data pad. “ _YA vernus' eto pozzhe.”_ She would return it to him later.

He nodded once, then touched something on his shoulder before he moved to the glass doors of her balcony. Natasha didn’t take her gaze off him as he stepped out, even as the cold air washed over her damp skin and chilled her all over again. After closing the doors, he paced to the edge, and then leapt onto the roof.

Even listening, she couldn’t catch the sound of his movement. Setting the device onto her bed, she pulled the towel from her hair and began to dry it. “Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff?”

“What is the status of Sergeant Barnes?”

“He is currently showering in his room, Ms. Romanoff.”

Five minutes ago he hadn’t been. “Any issues with his stay?”

“No…though he did not sleep in his bed.” Poor James was to have no privacy and guilt stabbed at her for taking advantage of the invasion. Then her gaze fell to the data pad.

“Where did he sleep?”

“The closet.” Friday sounded perturbed.

Considering the information, Natasha paced over to the closet. Tony had it stocked with clothes in her size, some were nicer than others but whoever did the shopping had chosen any number of items she would have picked out for herself including workout clothes.

Studying the interior, she nodded. There was no surveillance in the closet. No windows. He would be in a more defensible position. The one exit might be troublesome, but a trade off against other factors. Of course, with his arm, he could as likely punch his way through a wall and vanish through the house, too.

“Thank you Friday, you may resume privacy mode.”

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.” Then she was gone. Natasha dropped the towel, and dressed in stretch pants, a bra, and tank top then threw a hoodie on over it. As she pulled the hoodie from the hanger, she paused, and then grinned.

This was Tony’s. Though she needed to remind him it didn’t count as stealing if he left it for her, she would wear it anyway.

It had also not been in her closet when she went to bed the night before. She’d checked the whole room. For now she left her shoes off and returned to the bed. Did she tell the others she’d accepted the data pad or read it first? The Soldier seemed to trust her for some reason, but why?

_You’re Black Widow_. Steve insisted he remembered her name. Presumably he’d spoken to Steve about her. Or at least, about a Natalia. Not that she believed in coincidence.

In her mind, the name _James_ whispered out, provocative, knowing, and intimate. Then there was that tug of familiarity, that insistence she knew him.

And for one spare second when he’d nearly crushed her throat in Berlin she’d managed to say, “ _You could at least recognize me.”_

Why would he recognize her if she could barely recognize him?

A knock on the door interrupted her musing.

“Yes?” she called.

“Pancakes are ready, and Rogers isn’t letting anyone eat until you get down there.” Tony called through the door sounded aggrieved. “He just went up to get Barnes. Coming?”

“Yes,” she told him as she set the data pad down. She would review it after breakfast, and before she went to the gym. Then she would find a way to return it to him.

After…well after she would tell Steve, and Tony. They both needed to know their surveillance wouldn’t work on keeping the Soldier contained if he wanted out anymore than it would keep her. Not that she hadn’t already suspected as much.

So why the hell did she feel guilty about it?


	18. I don't see how that's a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ross makes an unexpected move and forces their hand, Tony must return to the States. Meanwhile, Bucky Barnes makes an appearance and Nat isn't sure what to do about the Soldier.

Chapter Eighteen

_I don’t see how that’s a party_

 

Natasha

 

 

Breakfast turned out to be surprisingly fun. Sandwiched between a grumbling Tony and a bleary eyed Clint, Nat cheerfully took two pancakes off the pile then laughed as Tony and Clint filled their own with two or three of their own. Steve arrived with Barnes in tow, the former assassin seemed brighter eyed than he’d been even twenty minutes earlier in her room. His hair was slicked back away from his face, and he’d shaved.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low, gravelly and polite.

“Coffee,” Clint told him, with a jerk of his thumb toward the masterpiece of equipment Tony had stocked the kitchen with—one complaint Nat had never had about Tony. He always had the best coffee and coffee-making equipment money could buy. Though a French press wouldn’t be amiss. “Pancakes,” Clint added with another point, then motioned to Steve. “Cook.”

Barnes gave him a slow blink, followed by a slightly crooked grin before twirling a finger. “Air.” Then his mouth spread wider.

“Ass.” Clint commented, his tense shoulders relaxing a fraction. Most people wouldn’t have seen it, but Nat knew her partner better than most. He’d gone wary and watchful the moment Steve returned with his old friend.

“Language,” Steve muttered, and stretched between the two men to break their staring contest, friendly or not.

“Fuck you, Steve,” Barnes said with such a good-natured grin, that Tony choked back a laugh.

Steve glared at Barnes. “There are ladies present.”

Nat’s eyebrows went up, but Barnes didn’t miss a beat. “All right Stevie, I wouldn’t want to offend your delicate ears.” Then he placed his hands over both of Steve’s ears and said. “He’s not really this much of a priss, too much time with showgirls.”

Clint didn’t even bother to hide his laughter and to his credit, Tony snorted but there was definitely amusement easing the dark lines of tension around his mouth. Batting Barnes’ hands away, Steve glared but it did nothing to hide his flush. After pouring himself some coffee, Barnes glanced at her and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Curious in spite of herself, Nat waited to see what would come out of that mouth next. Whoever had left her room was not the man who came down the stairs and she wasn’t sure whether to be fascinated or terrified.

Probably both.

“Hello, beautiful,” Barnes said with a slow drawl that sounded like he’d just woken up, but there was no mistaking the Brooklyn in his accent. It was almost charming.

Before she could respond, Steve abruptly pointed at Barnes. “No.”

“What?” His best friend said, but the bewilderment in his voice and expression were an act. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes. “It’s the truth, she’s beautiful.”

“Just don’t.” The warning in Steve’s voice went low, and flat. It was his Captain America voice, the one that came out after the battle had gone on too long and he had no patience for anything anymore.

Apparently Barnes recognized it, but he didn’t let him stop him. “Maybe she has a friend, Stevie…”

All of a sudden, Clint leaned into her shoulder guffawing. Nat shoved him to the side and nearly knocked him off his stool. If he wanted to play the clown, she’d let him. He liked to distract and defuse with his antics, but watching Steve with Barnes was a bit on the fascinating side.

Barnes wasn’t remotely put off by Captain America—then again he called him Stevie.

Stevie and Bucky.

Children’s nicknames.

 _They’ve known each other since they were children._ She dug into her pancakes with a little more force. _Love is for children._

“You are such a jerk.” Throwing up his hands, Steve seemed to write off Barnes.

With a lazy grin in her direction, Barnes winked. Nat refused to respond to it. “Someone has to keep you in line, Punk.”

“Am I the only one hearing the _Twilight Zone_ music right now?” Tony asked her in a hushed whisper against her ear.

Nope. She couldn’t say he was. So she answered with a slight shake of her head. Barnes hadn’t stopped glancing in her direction, and he flicked a look from her to Tony then back again.

Keeping her expression bland, Nat took another bite of a pancake. Whatever was going on, she needed more information before she acted on it. Was he playing them? Did he think she was an ally in whatever the game was? What if it wasn’t a game? What if _this_ was Steve’s precious Bucky? Then what the hell was that in her room?

Too many questions and far too few answers.

After filling their plates with pancakes, the pair stood across from the island, standing while they dug in. Steve had made a lot of pancakes, but the stacks were severely depleted after they got their meals. Clint helped himself to another three and Tony looked like he was considering the last two.

“You know, it’s usually considered polite to introduce folks,” Barnes said, his drawl firmly in place and his gaze firm on her. “I know I was a little out of it last night, but I think I would remember meeting you.” Then he extended his right hand across the island. “Bucky Barnes.”

Tony stilled and Steve snapped his attention between his best friend and her. For all his playfulness, Clint twirled his fork with his fingers as though ready to turn it into a weapon.

Nat considered the extended hand a beat, then set her fork down to grip his hand once, deliver a firm half-shake, then retrieving it from his grasp. “We’ve met. Natasha Romanoff.”

A small frown gathered his brows as she pulled her hand away. His hand had been warm, almost too warm. Rough and calloused, probably from all the weapons handling.

And fuck her, it had been familiar, too. She added it as another piece of information for the _what the fuck_ file she’d begun accumulating.

“Not sure I’d count the moment at the airport as actually meeting,” Barnes said after a moment. Then he frowned, as if bringing up the whole thing reminded him he sat across from at least two people he’d been fighting against.

“Didn’t really think a formal introduction would have been appropriate,” Steve said, as though attempting to keep it light. “Nat, you want those last two pancakes?” He’d demolished his stack. Based on his metabolism, he could likely eat more. Barnes had only eaten about a third of his, but dug in again at Steve’s question.

Some part of her had been considering them, but her appetite had vanished so she settled for sliding off her stool to go refill her coffee. “No, I’m good. Knock yourself out.”

Awareness of being watched had become something of a sixth sense. _Always know who is at your back…_ Knives can be lifted, forks are good weapons, spoons can be sharpened, and a broken plate can cut the carotid if struck correctly.

“Anyone else need more coffee?” She asked, buying herself a reason to glance over her shoulder.

Fuck. All four of them were watching her. No, that wasn’t unsettling at all. The earlier restlessness buzzing under her skin returned.

Tony lifted his cup, not even pretending he hadn’t been staring. Carrying both the coffee pot and her cup, she returned to the island and filled up Tony’s cup, then Clint’s as he gave her a smirk. She bumped him hard as she swung past him, satisfied by his squawk as the coffee sloshed onto his fingers.

Steve gave her a polite headshake, but Barnes held out his cup with a slow grin. “I wouldn’t mind if you topped me at all.”

The thunk of Steve’s fist hitting the counter had all the dishes jumping. “Bucky.”

Tony flinched, but Nat met his gaze. He gave her a sharp nod, letting her know he was okay. Clint was twirling his fork again, his posture relaxed but there was no mistaking the laser focus he had on Barnes. Meanwhile, Steve all but vibrated at her back and she could just imagine the heated disapproval in his eyes.

At least it was on Barnes instead of her this time.

Affecting pure indifference, Natasha filled his coffee cup. “You should add some sugar to that if you’re looking for sweetness.” Then she cut away from him as though she could care less. Nothing in her posture or her shoulders revealed the tension winding in her gut. Deception was her life’s blood, and she slipped into the part of the dismissive like an old glove.

“Stop it,” Steve hissed through clenched teeth. She didn’t doubt he’d tried to keep it quiet but the kitchen wasn’t large and no one else was speaking.

“Damn, Pal. Lighten up…just because you can barely talk to a gorgeous woman doesn’t mean the rest of us are similarly afflicted…”

“That’s it,” Tony snapped, and the conversation between the friends cut off. “We don’t talk about Natasha like she’s a piece of meat. You’re a guest. Act like it. If you can’t be respectful, then do us all a favor and shut up.” Heat scored every single word. Tony might flirt with the best of them, and he’d well earned his playboy reputation, but outside a couple of times when he’d been near blackout drunk, she’d never seen once verge on hitting on a woman or speaking to her like that.

Silence draped the room, but Natasha merely sipped her coffee as she went to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. It was time to extract before her presence scrubbed away the polished veneer to the cracks beneath.

“Tell you what boys, this has been fun, but I’m going to work out—”

“Boss,” Friday interrupted in an urgent tone. “You need to see this.”

A screen appeared on the kitchen wall as if cast there by one of the cameras, and it might very well have been. Tony liked to have all his toys. The image focused on Avengers Tower in New York, with a breaking news bulletin. Icy fingers wrapped around Nat’s spine, and she balanced her weight on both feet, muscles tensing as she readied for whatever blow would be coming.

Lately, breaking news had sucked.

“We’re coming to you live just outside Avengers Tower here in New York.” The female reporter was dressed in a thin, but insulated jacket. Instead of a skirt, she wore pants. All very professional, and very focused on her task as flashing blue and red lights played over her features. Behind her, a dozen SUV’s and surveillance trucks had formed a perimeter around the building, and agents were heading to the lobby doors wearing FBI windbreakers. It had to be three in the morning, the dead of night in New York.

A perfect time for an unexpected raid.

Bastards.

“Formerly known as Stark Tower, it was converted for the Avengers use following the Battle of New York.” Footage from the battle flashed across the screen—mostly of the aliens pouring through the portal open above the tower and the STARK name clear on the side, then traded to the aftermath when the damaged tower only sported the letter A. “Sources informed us of the raid tonight conducted by the FBI in concert with the UN Joint Task Force on Terrorism. U.S. Secretary of State Ross is scheduled to issue a statement in the next two minutes.”

Behind her, Stark’s security was allowing the FBI entrance to the building.

“Boss, they are requesting elevators to the living quarter floors. Ms. Potts called and said legal was on their way, but that I should cooperate with the terms of the warrant until they arrive.”

The sound on the screen lowered as the cameras stayed focused on the tower, then a split screen showed a podium in what could be the White House briefing room where numerous reporters were settling in.

“What’s the scope of the warrant?” Tony demanded.

“Access to Agent Romanoff’s living quarters, and the Penthouse. A second warrant has been delivered to the compound for Agent Romanoff’s quarters. Colonel Rhodes is dealing with them.”

Of course. She had nothing in the tower that would compromise Tony, but she wasn’t certain about the penthouse.

“Close the blinds, Friday and let them in.” From the corner of her eye, she caught Tony folding his arms, his expression as quietly furious as she’d ever seen it.

Then Ross was on the screen, taking a stance behind the podium. “Good morning. At two fifty nine a.m. today, warrants were being executed at the Avenger’s Tower, and Compound, as well as Stark Industries facilities in California, London, and Paris. These warrants were issued jointly in coordination with the U.S. District Court for the Southern District Court of New York, the Home Secretary in London, as well as the French magistrates in accordance to agreements with the United Nations. These warrants are for the search and seizure of all material related to Natasha Romanoff, also known as Natalia Alianova Romanova, Natalie Rushman…” And he went on to list nearly twenty of her aliases. The only comfort she found in the list were they were all names she’d burned with SHIELD—except the two she refused to relinquish. The first, Natalia, the only named she’d ever known as a child and Natasha, the name she’d given herself when she’d been reborn at SHIELD.

“In addition to her actions in Leipzig, Germany in the aiding and abetting of fugitives Steve Rogers and the man known as The Winter Soldier, Natasha Romanoff has been indicted on charges of violating the espionage act, treason, theft of government property, hacking, conspiracy to remove sensitive data, various acts of terrorism—including the recent Paris attacks—, and nearly two dozen counts of assassination. On the last charge, The Hague may be involved in the dispensation as they may also be seen as war crimes.”

“Son of a bitch…”

“Asshole…”

“Nat…”

She ignored the voices behind her, keeping her attention on Ross. His eyes were hard as diamonds, his expression benign but with every word he spoke, the corners of his mouth tipped. The revelation of his files had created a bit of a shit storm for him. So this was how he was striking back.

“While there are more charges in the sealed indictment, we will leave those for the courts to decide. There will be many questions coming in the next few days, and we will address a few right now. Yes, Natasha Romanoff once served as an Avenger. No one is disputing that fact. However, due to the relationship between Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff, the U.N. Committee, in a unanimous decision, has forbidden the Avengers from being involved in the hunt or capture of Agent Romanoff. Due to the nature of the crimes linked to her tenure at SHIELD including the assassination of her handler—Phillip Coulson…”

Nat stiffened.

“The fuck?” Clint was on his feet.

“…the assassination of Director Nicholas Fury just prior to Agent Romanoff making all of SHIELD’s classified files public in an egregious and blatant attempt to subvert U.S. democracy, we must also take into account the current fugitive status of former SHIELD Agent Clint Barton. Barton was behind Romanoff’s initial recruitment and it is believed at this time, Romanoff worked him behind the scenes, and likely swayed his loyalties.”

The silence in the room behind her thickened to the point of painful.

“According to Agent Romanoff’s medical records, Romanoff underwent several mental re-conditionings in her tenures at various agencies including one that has been uncovered during her last year at SHIELD.”

_What?_

“The footage I’ve been cleared to show you is to emphasize the need to be aware that Natasha Romanoff is armed, dangerous, deadly, and may very well be unaware of her actions.”

The ice in her spine radiated out to her blood.

Ross turned, that faint smile more visible as he gave only his profile to the reporters watching him.

A warning flashed on the screen about the graphic nature of the footage. They should have warned about the absolute shit quality. Though grainy, the woman in the footage was definitely herself—red hair, the cut similar to one she’d had before Lagos, she’d trimmed it a few weeks before in an internal debate about cutting it all off.

The sound crackled, if there was any. She fought the soldiers dragging her toward a silver chair. One had his neck snapped, another got a punch to the throat that collapsed him. And then they hit her in the back of the head with something. The footage skipped and she was in the chair and despite the bite guard Nat could hear herself screaming.

The footage stopped. “At this time, we will be taking no further questions.”

And then there was an anchor talking about other footage they’d received from sources and a series of images danced across the screen. Nat saw none of it.

She knew that chair. That filthy, cold, hard device. The way her wrists were lashed, the collapsing of metal restraints on her legs. Then the headgear, digging into her scalp…

But it hadn’t happened in the year before SHIELD, right? She’d been a damn SHIELD agent. Level 9. Strike Team Delta. An Avenger.

No. She should have recorded the footage.

Now they were discussing Tony Stark and the fact he’d defied congress while Nat was working for him as Natalie Rushman. _Shit…_

“Tony, you need to go back.”

“The hell I do,” Tony argued piercing the silence in the room.

“No, you need to go back. If you don’t—all people will see is what they can speculate on the news and right now, they can speculate a lot.” Ross had played the game very well and she’d underestimated him.

It wouldn’t happen again.

“Natasha, I’m not going back to play in that farce. We have a lot of work to do and…”

“If you say I need you, I’ll gift wrap you and send you back in the belly of a cargo plane.” No attachments. She didn’t need anyone. Pivoting, she met the grave gazes of three of the men, though Barnes didn’t look at her at all. He stood still and rigid at the island, his gaze intent on the marble top. “Tony, he’s going to use this to take jabs at Stark Industries, then go after your patents, your equipment, and your designs. He’ll state everything there was tainted by association because I worked at Stark Industries…”

“You were undercover for SHIELD.” Dammit Tony could be stubborn.

“Who we now know was also Hydra,” Clint said quietly, backing her play.

“Fuck,” Tony swore and shoved away from the island. Nat wanted to walk over and comfort him, but it was the absolute last thing she should do. Not when she needed him to walk away to protect himself.

“You’ve gone dark. Ross already dislikes you. Congress thinks you’re an arrogant prick, and the military wants your weapons. Blame yourself Stark, you’re too damn good at what you do and they can’t get you coming straight at you. You’ve played their game better than they have, and you are a signatory to the Accords and you came out of this whole debacle looking like the hero you set out to be.” Could he really have imagined himself here all those years ago?

“I’m not a damn hero, Nat. I never set out to be a hero.” And the anger in his voice was old anger.

“You tried to privatize world peace and get the weapons away from the dictators, the terrorists, and the murderers…” Clint said in an easy tone that didn’t remotely reflect his mood. There was an icy rage in his eyes. “They’re weaponizing Nat to use her against everyone and you’re a big target, Stark. If they can successfully taint you…”

“They can turn everything you do into a battle and maybe even sway public opinion.” Natasha shook her head. “Don’t let me be used as a weapon against you. Please.” He locked gazes with her then and the cold fury in his face eased as he sighed.

“Friday, tell Pepper I’ll be in New York in ten hours.”

“You got it Boss.”

Then Tony raked a hand through his hair. “I can make it in under seven with the new armor. We need to make some decisions before I go…”

“Natasha,” Steve said quietly, and she glanced at him. “The chair?”

“I have no idea,” she told him. “I don’t think that happened when they are saying it.”

“But it happened.” Not a question.

“If what they showed on the footage is accurate…then yeah I guess it did.” Only discipline kept her from vomiting at that point.

The marble cracked on the island, and Barnes pushed away from it violently. Without a word, he stalked up the stairs. Steve glanced after him, then at her.

“Go… it’s probably not good for him to be alone.” She encouraged him, but whether it was for Barnes’ peace of mind or to prevent the Soldier from doing more of what he’d done earlier, she had no idea.

“I’ll be back,” Steve reassured her, and then he hurried out of the room.

“Not a good time to give up drinking,” Tony said after a moment.

A weak laugh bubbled up through her, and Natasha shook her head. “Our timing pretty much sucks across the board at the moment.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Clint teased, but the effort of his smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“Call Laura, Clint.” Because it was the middle of the night there, they still had time to mitigate the damage to his kids. “I know she doesn’t let them watch, but if they are going to drag you through this and imply…” Fuck. It had taken a moment for it to hit her, but they were implying she’d seduced Clint. They didn’t say directly, but they were betting a titillated public would equate sex with _turning_ him. “Just call her. She doesn’t deserve to hear it like that no matter how untrue it is.”

Exhaustion wore against his face and he swore again. Nat pulled the burner from her pocket and tossed it to him. “It’s clean. I haven’t used it yet. Tell her I’ll be going down the list of one and dones.”

She had about twenty left. But she could get more.

“Nat…”

“I’m fine,” she told him, and waved him off. Laura and his family first. She could sort out the clusterfuck of her own feelings later.

Then it was she and Tony.

“Tasha…you’re not what they’re painting you as.” The fact he felt the need to tell her that was sweet.

The tile against her feet was cold as she crossed over to him, and then wrapped her arms around him. Tony wasn’t big on public displays of affection either, but he met her hug with one of his own. “The problem is I was that woman for a long time, Tony. It’s not a stretch for them to paint my actions with them. I left them a pretty big brush.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he returned with ferocity. “You saved the world—at least twice. You saved my life. Rhodey’s. Pepper’s. You’re you…” Then he pulled away enough to look in her eyes. “You are a _hero_.”

“No, I’m a weapon.” She tried to gentle her voice, but Tony’s loyalty was a fierce and wild thing. Once he decided he was in your camp, he’d rebuild the world to save you. Never had she been worthy of such attention, nor did she feel especially deserving of it now. “They may as well have manufactured me, but from my earliest memory—they honed me to be good at whatever they needed me to be. I was never a person. Not really.”

“Then those bastards are the problem, not you.”

It was sweet. She brushed a thumb against his cheek, then extracted herself from his arms. “Yes, they were.” She wouldn’t use the present tense. As far as she knew, she’d burnt the damn Red Room to the ground and anytime a rumor of them crept up, she hunted it down.

Never. Again.

Never.

“Now, put your game face on Mr. Stark, I think you’re going to have to make some noise.”

A hint of a sly grin curved his lips. “I’m pretty sure I know how to make some noise, Ms. Romanoff.” Then he slid his hands into his pockets and backed away a step. “Friday…”

“Yes Boss?”

“Maintain surveillance here, Natasha has full authorization to make any changes…”

“Tony…”

He held up his hand. “No, you’re letting me do this. Keep her in an electronic blanket if she’s traveling.” The expression on his face told her he already suspected her plans if not outright knew them.

Never in her life had being so transparent meant any kind of safety and yet, for some bizarre reason, Tony’s acknowledgement meant something. Still gazing at her, Tony pulled a wristband out of his pocket similar to the one he wore on his wrist. He slid it around her wrist and the metal shimmered, then shrank until it fit snugly.

He stroked his finger over the metal and it loosened, then he stroked it again and it tightened. A shudder went through her. But the metal wasn’t cold like handcuffs, and it didn’t cut into her skin. It wasn’t a trap.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

“You don’t have to wear it all the time, but if you’re going in somewhere dangerous…” He paused, giving her a look that said he damn well knew she would. “Wear it. If something happens, Friday can alert me. If someone takes you…I can find you.”

“It’s a tracker.”

“That’s part of it,” he admitted. “I was still working on it, so it might not do everything yet. You’ll have to tap it twice to activate it. Otherwise it’s just…a pretty bracelet.”

Natasha inspected the bracelet, then stroked her finger over it as he did earlier. It loosened, then tightened with the repeat motion. The icy sensation under her skin slid back a little.

“It’s okay, yeah? I can work on making it a necklace—or earrings even. But the wrist band worked for me.” Tony asked, and the careful measure of his words said a great deal about what he noticed.

Too much.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. Testing the weight on her wrist. Most of the time she can forget about that hang-up. Her Widow’s Bites fit snugly over her hands and wrists, but they are weapons and not accessories. They don’t bind, they give her a way out. “I think so. Can I talk to Friday through it?”

“Yes…to a point. But she won’t be able to respond. I hadn’t got that far.” It was almost an apology. “It’s on my to do list.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Then she met his gaze, not retreating from the quiet emotion reflected in his eyes. Everything about this situation was impossible. Everything. “You never had to come or to help or to put up with any of this. So I owe you.”

“No you don’t,” he said quiet, but firm. Then leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. He telegraphed every move, but he checked her eyes once before he brushed his lips to her skin. The gentle rub of his beard tickled, then he leaned away. “You came to get me, Nat. First when I had the palladium poisoning, then Vanko, and then in Siberia. You came when you didn’t have to.”

“Arguably the palladium poisoning was just me following orders.” Too much. She had to deflect this.

“Fine, but I know for damn certain Vanko wasn’t.” He smirked. “You did that because you saw a problem. And you got in trouble for it because of the number of wounded you left behind.”

True. Nick had told her good job but SHIELD regulations still earned her a slap on the wrist for making a unilateral decision when she’d been tasked with observation. “I didn’t kill anyone.” And that would have made getting through the gauntlet much easier. “But only because Vanko had already left.”

“Yeah, Happy mentioned how you went through that door with both guns ready,” Tony chuckled. “Either way, you don’t owe me. We’re friends, Romanoff. You’re stuck with me…and if you ever need to talk about anything. I listen real well after two or three drinks. And in a pinch, I have the numbers of several very reliable psychiatrists.”

She chuckled. It was his turn to deflect. Withdrawing a step, she nodded. She’d wear the wristband, for now. “Be careful when you get back. Ross is playing this much smarter than I expected. He’s coming for you, even if he has to go through others to do it.”

“You weren’t the first one to tell Congress to kiss your ass, y’know.” His lazy sardonic grin radiated arrogant confidence. “Ross isn’t going to know what hit him.”

“Care to wager which of us gets him first?” The offer rolled off her tongue because a dare was so much easier to deal with than the feeling of saying goodbye for maybe the last time.

“Nope,” Tony said. “I never bet against a sure thing, Red. We’ll take him down as a team.”

Goddammit. Hope flared in her chest again.

“All right,” he said as he backed up another pace. “I need to get ready, and go talk Pepper down before she sues everyone involved. Then I’m suiting up and heading home. This chalet is yours. Friday can help you track down another safe house in another city if you need it. Stay as long as you like. Leave and come back…oh, before I forget…we’re not done talking you and I. _Don’t_ be a stranger.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode out, talking to Friday, but Nat wasn’t listening, she was running her finger back and forth over the bracelet as it opened and closed.

Less than an hour later, she watched Tony take off from the balcony of her room. The snow had begun to fall, and it was almost pretty and peaceful. The Iron Man suit gleamed and the arc reactor had changed from a circle to a full triangle. It didn’t look thick either.

“Nice upgrades,” she called out and he twisted in the air.

“Go ahead and miss me, okay?” And she could almost imagine his cheeky grin.

Then his thrusters kicked in and he shot away through the sky without waiting for her response. She should go check on Clint, he hadn’t surfaced from calling Laura yet and she hoped like hell that didn’t mean more bad news. Another part of her said go check on Steve and by extension Barnes.

What she did was rock back and forth on her bare feet as the cold wrapped around her. The snow didn’t look to be falling heavily enough to blanket the area, but if it kept up—they could get a few inches.

Snow. How appropriate as she weighed her options for getting to Russia.

 _Head back in the game. Russia. Traffickers. Genetic experiments._ This might also be related to Ross, even if only tangentially. Chilled, she returned inside and closed the doors. She’d managed to drop the temperature in her room, too. Fortunately, she had a bed and she could work from there.

Of course, that brought her to the data pad the Soldier had dropped off earlier.

Dammit. She could return it to the Soldier and let Steve figure it out, particularly since Barnes was full of himself at breakfast. Or…

“Friday, if I give you access to the research on my laptop, could you do some pattern recognition for me?”

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”

Settling her laptop on the bed, she keyed her in via her passcodes, then turned on the Bluetooth so Friday could access it. After giving Friday the lists, and what she was looking for as well as the associated research, she leaned back on the bed and picked up the data pad.

Dread curled through her stomach. Reading the information would be an intrusion, one she doubted Bucky Barnes expected no matter what the Soldier asked for…

_And now I’m thinking of them—him—as two people._

Flipping open the first screen, she went in search of the report. Whether Barnes and the Soldier were two different personalities or not, one had requested her help. Not in so many words, but in the way he did it.

_I can do this._

She opened the first file, and dug in to the medical and neurological assessment of one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.


	19. Steve doesn't like that kind of talk

Chapter Nineteen

_Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk_

 

Steve

 

 

Steve half expected to find Bucky punching a wall when he made it to the suite. Instead he found an empty sitting room, and a glance in his bedroom didn’t reveal Buck. With the bathroom door open, he needed only to look inside. Tension rippled through his gut. Had Buck managed to disappear with only a minute’s head start? “Friday…did Bucky go somewhere else in the chalet?”

“Sergeant Barnes is in the closet of his room, Captain Rogers.”

The closet.

Pivoting, Steve stared at the door. “Buck?”

No answer.

“Buck, I’m going to open the door. All right?”

Still no answer.

Gripping the handle, he twisted it and eased the door open even as he slid to the side of the door, ready to react if Bucky came at him swinging.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

When no attack was forthcoming, he pressed the door in farther, and sighed. His best friend sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees up and his arms resting atop his knees.

The haunted look lingering on the edges of Bucky’s blank expression was a far cry from his earlier flirty, glibness. Leaving the door open, Steve moved to sit on the floor next to his friend. Coming after him had been the right call, but he yearned to be downstairs, talking to Nat and the guys, not letting the hooks of Ross’ actions sink any deeper into the former soviet spy.

But Bucky needed him, so here he would be. He had to trust Clint and Tony to have Nat’s back. He glanced at Bucky’s profile, but his oldest friend stared at the other wall, unseeing.

Settling his head back, Steve waited. His instincts said get Bucky talking, don’t let him run away or disappear into whatever hellish memory had him. Was it a half-remembered one? Something to do with the conditioning? Something else? Not knowing ate away at him, but Steve said nothing.

Even with all the reading, he couldn’t begin to fathom the life—if it could even be labeled that—Bucky had experienced. So no, he wouldn’t push or dig. He’d be there, sitting right next to him. Like Buck had done for him when Steve had gotten sick, or beat up, or like after his mom died. Steve had tried to push Bucky away then, but his friend refused to go, even when Steve turned down every offer to make things easier. He’d wanted to be alone.

But he’d needed his best friend.

Bucky had seemed to recognize it, and he’d been immovable.

So Steve could do no less.

He waited, their breathing the only sound in the room.

Beyond the closet, the gradually dimming light promised the clouds had darkened more, a contrast to the promise of sun on his run. Nat mentioned going to the gym earlier, Steve had intended to join her for a bit. He hadn’t gotten enough of a run in, and needed to burn the edges off his energy. Too much inactivity over the last few days left him sleepless.

“Cap?” Clint’s quiet call drifted from the suite’s sitting room.

“Back here,” he answered, glancing once at Buck who didn’t seem to react to either Clint or Steve.

A moment later the archer appeared in the doorway. Still dressed in jeans and the plaid button down he’d worn to breakfast, Clint’s eyes seemed even more tired than Steve felt.

“We okay?” He flicked a look toward Bucky, then back to Steve.

“Working on it.” Keeping his chin up, he decided to go with the best case scenario outlook. His mother used to tell him if he only looked for trouble, then trouble would be all he found. Some days, Steve’s pretty sure trouble looked damn hard for him cause it always seemed to find him. “What’s up?”

Clint waited a beat, as though assessing their positions, then he slipped into the closet and dropped to sit opposite Steve and Bucky, mirroring their position against the opposite wall. “Stark’s on his way back to New York.”

Damn. “It’s really that bad isn’t it?” An understatement, they’d transformed the international manhunt into a real smear campaign against Nat. That damn chair.

“It’s probably going to get worse.” The archer was so matter of fact. “But he can do more good there than he can staying here, even if leaving was the last thing he wanted.”

“He really cares about Nat.”

“We all care about Nat.” With a shrug, Clint glanced at Bucky again. It jolted Steve to realize Buck’s blank staring had been replaced by something cooler and more assessing as Bucky studied Clint. “I don’t think that part is in question, even guys who are flirtier than they should be.”

Pressing his head to the wall, Steve sighed. Bucky always had a way with the ladies, an effortless charm both inviting and beguiling. “I have no idea what he was doing earlier.” Not that he liked talking about Buck as if he weren’t there, but he hadn’t fully checked back into the conversation yet. Steve wanted to talk about anything that wasn’t the gruesome image of that chair or the way Nat’s face looked in the image as she’d begun to scream. Those few seconds would haunt him. “How is Nat?”

“Holed up in her room. Friday said she’s researching, and needed a little time.” Clint slid a look at Bucky again. “I’ll give her another hour, then I’ll roust her.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“Is she Hydra?” The first words out of Buck’s mouth were rough, and raw as if his throat were parched. His organic fingers clenched, but his metal hand barely twitched.

“No,” Steve said aware of the hardness entering Clint’s laconic gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“The chair,” Bucky continued as if Steve hadn’t spoken. “They wipe you. Give you the mission. You are what they make you.”

“Maybe that’s true about the chair, but it doesn’t make Nat Hydra,” Clint answered before Steve could. “Are you Hydra?”

Life flooded Bucky’s expression and his eyes narrowed as he snapped his head up. “No. I hate those Nazi son of a bitches.”

“But you recognized the chair.” Clint met the glaring-eyed gaze with a lot more calm than Steve felt at the sudden resurgence in the man next to him. “That’s what pissed you off in the kitchen, wasn’t it?”

A moment of silence, then a nod. “Not just the chair.”

Not _just_ the chair? Steve glanced Clint in confusion, but the archer kept his focus on Bucky. “Nat’s reaction.”

“If that’s the dame’s name.”

Steve searched his memory for what the men had seen. Nat had her back to them for the majority of the announcement. Tony had been furious, and he hadn’t been alone. Every time Steve believed he’d adapted to the new time he lived in, it only took the shamelessly reckless behavior of a few to prove to him how alien the world had become.

“He called her Natalia,” Bucky continued, the hoarseness in his voice dragging over the syllables. “Natalia had red hair. She danced. I think. It’s…fuzzy.”

Nothing in Clint’s expression changed. He would neither confirm nor deny.

“The dame’s a looker, but Natalia…” Then Bucky shook his head, the rigidity in his posture relaxed and he dropped one knee. A faint of confusion creased his eyes as he glanced at Clint then Steve. “Shit. Who did I hurt?” All at once, he sounded like himself.

“No one,” Clint answered before Bucky could, his cool eyes unchanged. “You might have broken the counter but I think Stark can afford to get it fixed. You back with us now, man?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said slowly, then glanced at Steve. “Sorry Stevie…that happens sometimes. I just have to get away.”

“So this has happened before?” For some reason, Steve didn’t find the idea very reassuring.

“Not in a while, not since…you know…Zemo.” His grimace on the last a reminder of his resigned, if pained reaction to waking in the machinist’s shop with his metal arm trapped in a vice.

“Didn’t happen at all in Bucharest?” Steve asked, more worried than anything else.

“Not really, I pretty much kept to myself,” Bucky admitted. “I worked odd jobs, mostly stuff I could do on my own. Avoided big concentrations of people. Tried to avoid the news…” Then he grimaced. “Especially after Sokovia.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “The tearing the Avengers down part or the inside look parts?”

A weak smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “The all of it part. Stark was on the news a lot…and I was getting headaches.”

Howard and Maria. Steve sighed.

“Stevie too, and then I’d feel guilty.”

Steve bumped his shoulder. “You had nothing to feel guilty about, pal.”

Bucky snorted, but Clint shook his head. “Don’t do that Steve,” he advised.

“What?” Steve frowned. “He didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t him.” Of all of them, he’d thought Clint would get it.

“Steve,” Bucky answered. “It was still me. Stop looking for a fight.”

All at once his spine sagged and Steve banged his head against the wall. “No, I can’t. Hydra was supposed to die with the Red Skull. I went into the ice to make damn sure he couldn’t hurt any more people. You spent decades in that hell, they’ve torn apart more lives than I care to remember and they’re _still_ hurting you. Hurting Nat.”

“You can’t change that,” Clint told him, his tone grave. “You can’t take away the hurt. You can only stand with them even when the rest of the world won’t. You can have their back, but you can’t take away their sense of responsibility. Having a moral compass means it’s going to hurt. Having lost control of your life means it’s going to be a struggle to take ownership of yourself. Saying it’s not your fault is just taking away their choices.”

It was blatantly unfair and Steve wanted to argue as much. The world owed Bucky, and the more he learned, the more he thought it owed Nat, too. But they would only ever be blamed for the things they couldn’t control. The monsters in the dark. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

It was Bucky’s turn to bump his shoulder. “No one said you had to. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it…I’m never going to like it. It’s why I wanted to go back on ice in the first place. Kinda wishing they’d left me there, now.”

Pain flared in Steve’s chest. Being happy about having Buck back made him selfish. All he’d wanted was the chance, and they had it now—even if it wasn’t the way he’d imagined it would be.

 _We have what we have, when we have it._ Nat whispered to him from the past, the words coiling around his floundering pride and bruised ego. He had Bucky. He had Nat. Had them right now.

“I’m sorry about your family. Have you talked to them?” Bucky asked, his attention on Clint.

“They’re fine. My record of being around hasn’t ever been stellar, so me being gone is far more familiar.” Tired acceptance lingered in the man’s voice. “The way things are now, better for me to be far away.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offered. “If I could…if I could go back to mine, I would.”

“We could look them up,” Steve offered, but Bucky shook his head.

“I did. After D.C. after some things started coming back. They’re gone. Not their kids, and their grandkids. But they aren’t Sarah Jane or Becca or Lizzie.” His sisters, all so much younger than him and now they were buried. Their world really was gone. “But at least you’re still around Punk, even if you forgot I was supposed to take all the stupid with me.”

A grin flashed over Steve and he shook his head, but his attention circled back to the news report. “Clint, is Laura going to be okay with what Ross said about you and Nat?”

“She’s Nat’s friend, too.” Clint shrugged. “Nat’s been a damn good friend to us. Laura knows a snow job when she’s hears one. She’s not happy about it, but another perk of keeping them off grid and limiting who knew us and what they knew…hard to humiliate her.”

It was a neat non answer evasion.

“I wish I was worth what it cost all of you,” Bucky said quietly.

“You are,” Steve assured him. “We’ll figure this out.”

“But we’re not figuring it out in a closet,” Clint said, and stood. He held out a hand to Bucky. “I need to hit some shit. I think you might be up for that, too.”

A hint of a smile creased Bucky’s cheeks, and then he grasped Clint’s hand and climbed to his feet. In turn, Bucky offered his hand to Steve. “You’re always up for hitting things.” It wasn’t a question and Steve laughed.

“I’m not that bad,” he defended himself as he led the way.

“No,” Bucky agreed. “You’re much worse.”

A rumble of Clint’s chuckle followed behind. “You know, Cap. I’m starting to like this not so virtuous side of you.”

Bucky’s laugh came out rusty, but genuine. “Virtuous? This stubborn ass? I could tell you some stories.”

Just like that, Bucky and Clint moved side by side, and animation filled Bucky’s face and voice. Sighing, Steve trailed along behind not at all as upset at being the butt of their humor. Bucky could laugh. He was alive. He had him back.

Clinging to those ideas buoyed his mood, even if dark thoughts of Ross and his actions lingered. The “basement” gym wasn’t half the size of the course they had at the Tower or Compound, but significantly larger than Steve would have associated with any house. It had mats, mirrors, a pair of treadmills, an elliptical, a rowing machine, weights of various sizes, and a couple of punching bags in addition to a boxing ring.

Sometimes Steve forgot that Tony did like to box even if he’d never seen him do it. Nat mentioned it once, and in the past, he knew Tony and Happy would gear up and go a few rounds.

There was even a changing area and workout clothes. They made quick work of switching out for sweatpants for Steve and Clint, shorts for Bucky and along with t-shirts for all. On the opposite side of the room were women’s workout gear, including the sports bras and leggings Nat favored.

Hell there were even shoes.

Clint whistled as he laced up his shoes, “You know I give Stark grief, but the man always comes through and then some.”

Wrapping his hands, Steve had to nod. The idea of pounding out some of his frustration on the bags eased some of the crushing resentment bubbling inside of him. Fury lying to him had been aggravating. He hated being Fury’s janitor. Natasha lying to him under Fury’s orders had hurt as much as it pissed him off. Ross lying about Nat—about all of them—left him with a vicious ball of rage he didn’t know what to do with.

He hated bullies.

Always had.

Ross was nothing but a bully dressed up in a suit and hiding behind his military record.

“Friday,” he said, vividly aware of Nat’s absence. “Can you let Natasha know we’re down here if she’d like to join?”

“I can Captain Rogers, but she is in privacy mode at the moment and I will have to wait until she leaves the room or requests my attention.”

Dammit. Nat never did like the constant surveillance JARVIS and later Friday provided even if the AIs attempted to be unobtrusive.

“She’ll come out when she’s ready, Cap.” Clint told him as he paced over to a treadmill and got it started. Buck had already settled onto the other, and the two men began to run, sharing an occasional comment.

Moving to a bag, Steve tested it with a couple of punches before he began to strike it. Less than a week ago, he’d been trapped in a loop of reading Bucky’s journals while staring at Bucky in cryo. The whole time, his mind seemed stuck on what to do next, and how to protect the people who’d come through for him. How did he get their lives back?

Through it all had been the thread of _where is Natasha?_ But even below that, and he was ashamed to admit it, had been _why did Natasha lie to me, again?_

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky’s even pace as he ran on the treadmill. He wasn’t racing so much as driving himself forward. Clint’s legs moved more, as though he were trying to keep up, and yet they were both focused, staring ahead and not saying much.

Bucky was here.

So why did it feel like his best friend wasn’t really back?

And what the hell with his behavior at breakfast?

 _It will take time Captain._ Shuri had told him once. _Even when we bring him from the cryo, he must adapt and heal._ Then they’d woken him early and sent him on with the warning it would take some time for him to adjust.

 _He hasn’t even been here a full twenty-four hours, Steve._ The chiding voice in his head sounded suspiciously like his mother. _You’re always so dramatic._ The laughter in Peggy’s eyes softened the remark, but it didn’t diminish the truth.

Punch.

Growing up with little to nothing while his mother worked every hour she could as a nurse, Steve struggled to find small jobs to scratch nickels together and help out gave him a very basic view of survival. People needed to help others. The world heaped enough abuse on them, they didn’t need to hurt others to get there.

Punch.

Neighborhood bullies.

Punch.

Landlords.

Punch.

Nazis.

Punch.

He used to be able to distinguish enemies from friends.

Punch.

If they shot at you, they were the bad guys.

Punch.

Bucky shot at him.

Punch.

Tony opened fire and landed blows.

Punch.

Vision.

Punch.

Rhodey.

Punch.

STRIKE Team Delta.

Punch.

T’Challa leapt into the fray.

Punch.

The spider-kid from Queens.

Punch.

Ross hitting with words, but how long before he used weapons?

Punch.

An image of Natasha raising her arm, Widow’s Bites facing him floated through his mind…

And he slammed the punching bag off its support and it struck the wall in an explosion of sand.

Dammit.

Hands on his hips, he breathed through the anger thrumming in his blood.

“Hey Cap…” Natasha’s voice wrapped around him like silken thread. He pivoted to find her watching him, head tilted. Dressed in workout clothes, she unzipped her hoodie and tossed it to the side. Her feet were bare, but her hands were wrapped if lighter than his. She climbed into the ring and beckoned with a curl of her fingers. “Let’s go. You need something that hits back before you kill more punching bags. Not sure how many Tony has in stock.”

“Mr. Stark has three more in the storage room, Ms. Romanoff. I can order more to be delivered if necessary.”

“Thanks, Friday.” She stretched her arms, and grinned. “So, Rogers? Coming?”

“Nat…” He eyed her, it was hard to miss all the skin in view when she wore only the tank top and it rode up near the top of her leggings. The old silvery scar on her shoulder had faded, but the puckering of skin on her abdomen seemed unchanged. “You’re still healing.”

“I’ll go easy on you, I promise,” she said, her voice all playful beckoning and he shook his head. She bounced from one foot to the other. “I’ll even spot you a point.”

Slap points. When she’d been working on his skillset to turn him from a brawler into a fighter, she’d given him a point for every time he’d managed to strike her. Initially it was the first to three points, then five, and then ten.

What the hell… he abandoned the bags to climb into the ring. It wasn’t as wide or as long as the sparring mats at the tower, but close quarters combat could be tougher. Without Nat, the ambush in the Triskelion elevator might have gone a very different way.

“To three?” he asked as he faced her from the opposite corner.

“Tired?” The snark pulled another smile from him. “Don’t worry Rogers, I’m sure you can get a nap in after.”

The agitation in his gut settled as she began to circle and he moved with her, familiar with this aspect of her personality. She treated sparring like it was a real battle, as much psychological as physical. The first time they’d sparred he’d made the mistake of thinking he needed to hold back, aware of his own strength. After she’d kicked his ass solid three rounds running, she’d dared him to actually give her a real fight.

He might be stronger than her, but she was blazingly fast and she never pulled her punches, the strikes stung and she’d never been afraid of his strength. If anything, she turned it back on him over and over.

“Loser cooks lunch,” he retaliated.

“Oh, good, if you’d said winner I would have worried you wanted to be poisoned.” A spark of laughter flared in her eyes and she shifted direction, circling back and he found himself backpedaling. Then she was coming at him in a flurry of motion, catching him off guard.

Dammit. The first slap caught him over his kidney, the sharpness stinging but if it had been a real blow, it could have crippled. She danced away, darting beneath his strike.

“One-one.” Her grin dared him and Steve forced himself to let go of the tangle of rage and guilt as he shot forward, and then she was on the move. It was like a dance, her avoiding, then striking as he pivoted. He feinted and tried to catch her as she went for the obvious target. The tumble of going beneath him and then landing a kick to the back of his knee.

Nat summersaulting to land, those thighs threatening to close around his neck. He twisted, jamming his shoulder up to break the hold and landing a slap on her hip. The sting burned his hand and she let out a hiss as he tossed her and she rolled to her feet, already twisting to catch his blow and dance under his arm.

The lightness of her as she landed on his bent knee, and brought her knee up to his head, only to “miss” as she sailed over him but still landing a slap to his ear. The concentration it took to keep his hand open for every blow, while preparing for her speed bled away his frustration, and sent adrenaline singing.

“Five-five,” he said, only slightly winded even though sweat soaked her. If it came to pure endurance, he would likely outlast Nat in a fight. But knowing her as he did, he knew she would go for the crippling moves to eliminate him.

Thank God they hadn’t had to fight at the airport. The fact she’d come at him in the apartment in Vienna had been bad enough. Even then all he’d done was fend her off.

The cadence of the spar changed as she closed on him more and more, a flurry of kicks in a series pushing him back across the ring. He let her score two slaps, as he got an arm around her and then he flipped her, dropping her on the mat. He used the arm around her to absorb some of the impact even as he knocked the wind out of her. Three slaps to him as he tried to pin her. Then she was gone, slipping out of his grip as though melted butter.

Then they were on their feet again. Blow. Block. Twist. Block again. She arced backward, bending away from the open handed slap on her shoulder. Then she was running, hitting the ropes and rebounding. She went airborne, swinging around him like he was a damn jungle gym.

Laughter burst through him as he fought for a grip, narrowly avoiding the slap blows as she finally locked her legs around his torso, but he landed four in quick succession. Then she dove backward. The act pulled him off his feet, his center of gravity shot; he landed on his ass, her open hand slapping his chest. She perched above him, knees on his shoulders and a smirk on her face as she flicked his nose.

“Ten-nine.” Husky laughter flowed around the words and Steve let himself go lax below her.

“Fine, Romanoff. You get that one.”

Her laughter deepened. “As if I don’t win more than I lose.” Then again, she wasn’t a sore loser. Never had been. The first time he’d managed to win a bout, she’d been ecstatic. Well as close to ecstatic as she could get with the quirk of her lips and the glow in her eyes.

“Point,” he agreed with her and waited for her to stand before he pushed himself upward. She offered him a hand, and he let her help him up. Sweat dotted her brow and dampened her face, but there was a glow to her. “You were right,” he admitted. He’d needed that spar.

“I know.” She sounded smug, but he couldn’t fault her. Nat always seemed to see more than any of them put together. Even if it was just the need to get outside his own head, and fighting—especially against such a skilled opponent—required focus and to let go of all the things he couldn’t change to concentrate on what was right in front of him.

“Heads up,” Clint called and Nat pivoted. A water bottle sailed through the air and she caught it. A second came flying to Steve.

Though the men had been on the treadmills, Clint and Buck were now positioned near the ring as though they’d been watching the show. Steve kept Buck in his line of sight as he took a drink. His friend stared at Natasha with a kind of open-mouthed wonder. It was an expression he recognized, because Steve had worn it enough he was sure.

“Mind if I sub in, Cap?” Clint said, having wrapped his hands at some point while Steve and Nat sparred.

Though he wanted another chance, Steve nodded. “I don’t mind. Nat?”

She smirked. “He owes me a rematch after Berlin anyway.”

“I had you the ropes,” Clint protested and she snorted, her derision clear.

“Not hardly. That kick would have knocked you on your ass.”

Steve slipped out and walked over to Buck as Clint climbed into the ring. “Then let’s make it interesting, Steve owes us lunch…so if I win, he can cook dinner.”

“Hey,” Steve protested, not that he minded much. Cooking was actually something he enjoyed. “Pay your own forfeits.”

“Fine,” the other man said as he stretched under Nat’s amused eye. “Then if I win, you read us into your plan, Nat. No deflections—just what you’re going to do and where we can help.”

Her amused expression didn’t vanish. “When you lose, you back off and leave me to do what I do.”

“Nope,” Steve called, admiring where Clint was going with it. “You keep that bet between the two of you, too.”

“No faith in Clint, Cap?” Nat gave him a teasing look.

“Got faith in both of you, but I’ve seen you fight—a lot.” He’d only seen them spar a few times though, very few. Most of the time they were horsing around and when he asked her why they didn’t spar as much, she said it would reveal their styles too much. If one ever had to take the other out, it was better to keep those advantages to themselves.

As evidenced on the hellicarrier just before the Battle of New York, it had paid off when Nat was able to take Clint down without killing him.

So why was she agreeing to spar with Clint now?

He transferred his attention to the archer, and recognized the tension in the man’s shoulders and neck. A muscle twitched in his jaw. She would spar with Clint for the same reason she’d pulled Steve into the ring.

They’d both needed it.

“Tell you what, I’ll spot you a point,” Clint taunted and earned a middle finger from Nat.

“Why don’t I spot you two for your one,” she said with an unrepentant grin. “Age before beauty after all.”

“Fuck you, Tasha.” But there was more laughter than heat in Clint’s remark.

“Be careful,” she said, waving a finger at Clint. “You know Cap doesn’t like that kind of language.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He was never going to hear the end of it. Then Nat and Clint were moving, and if he thought watching Nat fight was like dancing, then watching her and Clint spar was more like watching a duel of blades. Swift, fast, and sharp they slapped at each other, darted and ducked. Nat took him down more than once, but he could twist with her and slide through holds almost as adroitly as she could.

Next to him, Bucky had gone utterly still as he watched the bout between Clint and Nat. They never stopped taunting each other, as comfortable teasing as they were fighting. Kind of how they were on comms when battles had been winding down. Stealing a glance at Buck, Steve frowned. The animation in Buck’s earlier smile had vanished to be replaced by cool assessment. He tracked the combat as though measuring every twist or blow.

Nat had Clint by the arm, but he had her by the hair, and then she stepped into his legs and he wrenched sideways. Nat rolled over his arm like it was a vault and bounced Clint right off the ropes. She laughed as he rebounded right at her and she glided beneath his reach.

There was such simple joy in the sound, it buoyed Steve’s heart. Then Nat caught Clint with a tap of her foot to the back of his head. It wasn’t a hard blow, but it startled him so much, she flipped him and landed on him much as she Steve, her open hand cuffing his ear.

“Woman, you are made of elastic,” Clint grumbled, but he patted her leg.

Bouncing to her feet, she chuckled. “I’ve told you before to stretch before we do this. You get too stiff, and your shoulder locks because you’re too used to being at a distance.”

“Yeah yeah,” Clint said, waving her off as he walked over to the corner where he’d left a towel. They were both drenched in sweat.

Steve was happy his spar had lasted longer, even if she’d beaten them both.

Suddenly, Bucky moved, leaping the ropes to land in the ring and facing Nat. “Me next.”

“Buck,” Steve warned, his stomach dropping. Clint had gone still in his corner, his attention focused on Bucky in the center of the ring.

For her part, Nat seemed nonplussed as she met Bucky’s cool eyed gaze. “You’re still recovering from cryo,” she told him slowly. “You shouldn’t push it.”

“I can handle it.” No question or doubt in Buck’s voice.

“Buck…”

“Steve,” Bucky said. “She took you, she took him—I’m pretty sure she can take me.”

Based on their very real fights the last couple of times she’d encountered him, Steve had reason to question Buck’s assumption. “I don’t care. You’re not doing it.” He closed on the ring. “Shuri said you’d need a couple of days…it’s not even been twenty four hours here, Buck.”

“I’m fine,” his best friend argued, but he didn’t take his gaze off Nat. Earlier, Buck worried she was Hydra. He’d been responding to her oddly since he arrived—first the Russian, then the hard press of flirting at breakfast, followed by the anger. “What do you say, Miss Romanoff? I think you can handle me.”

The corner of Nat’s mouth twitched upward, but she shrugged. “Cap said no.”

“Steve’s not my father.” What the hell? There was even a hint of anger or maybe it was resentment underscoring Buck’s words. Beyond him, Clint had shifted out of the ring and had a knife in his hand. Steve had no idea where he’d gotten that.

“No,” Natasha agreed, undeterred by his temper. “He’s your friend. So don’t be a dick about it. You want to spar with me, we’ll go at it tomorrow. No holds barred. I’ll even let you keep the arm.”

The blatant challenge in her tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Bucky rushed at her, and Steve launched forward but he’d never get there before Buck got to Nat. Natasha didn’t move as Bucky came to a halt, crowded right in her space with his open hand—the right one—hovering just millimeters from her shoulder.

But Bucky wasn’t staring into Nat’s eyes, his whole attention focused one her shoulder.

The scar.

Suddenly he took a step back and Steve was there, one hand on his shoulder to brace him but Bucky pulled away.

“I did that.” All the color drained from his face. “In D.C.—I pursued you from the bridge. You pulled me away from the fight—from Steve.”

The horror in his tone wrenched at Steve’s heart.

Natasha nodded once. “Too many civilians, and too many already hurt.” She also hadn’t known Steve’s status, something she’d admitted later while Steve struggled with the revelation Bucky was alive and Nat faced the stinger of Fury’s mistrust. The farther she could get the Soldier away, the better chance Steve had of surviving.

All at once, the fact she’d made a sacrifice play struck him. There’d been so much going on, Steve missed it. Nat hadn’t expected to survive the Soldier twice, not when she was the target.

“You were the mission,” Bucky said, sounding ill. “Pierce wanted you away from Rogers. Said you were too dangerous. Rogers had something they wanted…Eliminate Sitwell. Silence the Widow. Distract Captain America.” He swallowed hard. “You shot me—twice.”

“Not a very good percentage when you consider how many times I shot at you,” Nat said with a wry grin. “Not to mention your goggles being bullet proof. Very annoying.”

A weak smile worked over Bucky’s lips. “That hurt like hell. The blow. Made my head ache. Then the grenade launcher…you didn’t hit me, but close enough to knock me back.” Bucky’s gaze went distant and he shuddered, a full body one. “I remembered…you hit me twice and I remembered.”

“Cognitive recalibration.” Nat wrapped the towel around her neck, then accepted the hoodie from Barton. “Not always one hundred percent effective.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to her as she slid into the long sleeves. It was killing Steve, watching Bucky struggle like this. _It was still me_. No matter that he’d been Hydra’s weapon. No matter that he’d followed orders. He had to live with the crimes committed with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky told her. “I’m really damn glad you’re good. I’ve never had as much trouble tracking down or taking a target before. I’m glad I failed.” Even if it cost him in the end, but those words remained unspoken.

“Thanks,” Nat told him, neither absolving him of his guilt nor blaming him. Admiration twisted in Steve’s chest. “Like I said, we’ll see how you feel tomorrow Barnes. If you still want to spar, I’ll give you a shot.”

“Bucky,” he told her.

Nat slid out of the ring and laughed. “I’m not calling you Bucky.”

His friend frowned. “Why not?”

“Cause that’s a kid’s name,” she told him over her shoulder. “We’re not kids.” Then she and Barton glided out the doors leaving Bucky with Steve. The fact they coordinated the effort spoke to their long friendship, they hadn’t even said a word just gave Steve time to let Bucky calm.

“You okay?” Steve asked a long minute of silence following their exit later.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, turning to look at him. “I really wanted to fight with her. I watched her with you and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She’s so good. Then with Barton—he’s no where near her skill level, but she made accommodations for him.”

“What?” Steve blinked. He hadn’t seen that.

“He’s a lot slower. She didn’t move at the speed she used with you. And she’s not as strong as you, but I’d bet she could match Barton closer. She didn’t press those advantages. She relied only on tactics.” Stunned admiration filled his voice, and he faced Steve. “She’s—intoxicating. I wanted to try my luck.” Then he lifted his metal hand and stared at it.

“She kind of has that effect on people,” Steve told him cautiously.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“When I chased her on that street—she tricked me. Used a recording of her voice to make me think she was somewhere. I rolled a grenade to it, expecting it to push her out of hiding. When it exploded and she didn’t appear, I was startled. Then she was on me.” Bucky’s eyes went distant.

“Nat’s a tough dame, I’ve seen her leap onto flying alien craft and take down pirates with the same kind of skill and patience.” Unpredictable in so many ways, but always reliable. She could hold her own amongst gods and monsters.

“Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed with him, then focused his eyes sharp and his jaw hard. He’d looked much the same way when he caught Steve fighting—again. “What I don’t get is how did I know the voice I was hearing was hers?”

 


	20. Now you sound like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint presses Nat to explain what she's doing and finally, they talk about what is going on with him.

Chapter Twenty

_Now you sound like you_

 

Clint

 

 

Clint shadowed Nat up the stairs from the gym, following her through the house toward the stairs heading up to their wing—just theirs now that Tony had left. Still, he held his tongue and said nothing until they reached the door to her room and rather than leave her there, he followed her inside and earned a raised eyebrow in response.

“Can I help you?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said through clenched teeth before he closed the door. “What the hell were you doing down there?” She’d taken a year off his life when she’d failed to blink at Barnes’ charge.

Pushing the damp hair off her neck, Nat gave him an unreadable look. When she was with him her mask only slipped over her face when she was uncomfortable or uncertain about something. They’d pushed past the emotional distance years ago. The last time he’d seen her so elusive, his own confusion nearly made him miss it.

_“Clint, you’re going to be all right.” Her voice seemed a benediction after spending an eternity locked in a cell in his mind._

_“You know that?” He challenged her. “Is that what you know? I got to go in through. I got to flush him out.” Acid burned in the back of his throat. His head screamed. Every muscle felt torn, shredded from the inside out. She gazed at him keeping her distance while he lay restrained._

_“We don’t have that long,” she told him, reminding him they were on the clock. “It’s going to take time.”_

_Time, right. Time to get a mad god out of his head. “I don’t understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?” Was he even Clint Barton anymore? It was as though his skin was a stranger._

_The straps over his wrists kept him still even as he panted. He skipped his gaze over the ceiling, trying desperately to wake up from this nightmare. Again and again, his gaze collided with hers, and she was a rock. No pressure, just warmth and presence. A touchstone. “You know that I do.”_

_Those words meant something, tickling a chord in the back of his mind. But he could seem to quell the shakes. His hands were steady, but everything inside him shivered. “Why am I back? How did you get him out?”_

_“Cognitive recalibration.” Her voice sounded as dead as he felt. But he couldn’t quite parse what she meant, and it must have showed because she added, “I hit you really hard in the head.”_

_That explained the thundering skull. “Thanks.”_

_Bit by bit, his heart slowed and his respiration evened. Then Natasha freed his restraints. He could breathe. “Tasha, how many agents?” God, how many had he killed?_

_“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, Clint.” Her voice turned steel. “This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.”_

_“Loki,” he exhaled the name. Yes, he could see the dark haired figure questioning him, the dark green eyes which had reminded him of Tasha in a twisted way as they gazed into his soul. Every question Loki asked him, Clint answered. Every despicable thing he requested, Clint obeyed. No loyalty survived the test of Loki’s interrogation. “He got away?”_

_“Yeah, I don’t suppose you know where?” A fair question. He’d been working for him, right._

_“I didn’t need to know. I didn’t ask.” Yet, he’d gotten them the last of the components Selvig required, and arranged transport before deploying with his team to get Loki from the hellicarrier. He’d known exactly where they would take him. “He’s going to make his play soon though. Today.”_

_“We got to stop him.” She sat next to him, her thigh resting against his, her shoulder brushing him. Human contact. How long after he recruited her had she consented to even sitting on the same sofa with him much less this close?_

_“Yeah? Who’s we?”_

_“I don’t know,” she’d told him. “Who’s ever left.” Who was left? More agents? The ones he hadn’t killed._

_“Well, if I put an arrow in Loki’s eye socket, I’d sleep better I suppose.” If he ever closed his eyes again. God, he’d betrayed Tasha. He’d told that bastard everything about her. When Loki asked if he loved her, he’d said yes. Not once did he plunder past Tasha to ask about Clint’s wife or kids. His love for Tasha had shielded them and he was both pathetically grateful and hated himself in the same breath._

_A small smile twitched the corners of her lips, a flicker in the mask she’d worn and it dawned on him how disconnected she’d been. He’d missed something. What had he missed? “Now you sound like you.”_

_“But you don’t,” he’d argued, a cold fist in his gut. “You’re a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Loki do to you?”_

_Loki hurt her. Loki took what Clint knew and carved into her._

_Fuck._

_“He didn’t.” Her denial was immediate and absolute and a little too fast. “I just…”_

_Her pause terrified him behind measure. “Natasha”_

_“I’ve been compromised,” she told him, and he nearly missed the swallow action of her throat. “I got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”_

She wore the same expression now. “Tasha,” he said, closing the distance between them. Nudging his finger under her chin, he gently coaxed her eyes up to meet his gaze. “What’s going on with you?”

“Too much,” she admitted. “And I was testing a theory with the Soldier—Barnes. Whatever. I need to shower. And you smell. If you want to do this heart to heart, I need to wash up first.”

“Nice deflection.” He wasn’t going to back off on this. “You can shower in a minute and we spent a month tracking terrorists in the mountains of Pakistan with only sketch baths from tepid water. We’ve certainly smelled worse.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled away from the contact to pace the room. The need for movement was likely as much from the workout in the gym to the topic of conversation.

“What theory were you testing about Barnes?” And if she said to see if she were still a target, he might shoot her himself. He remembered very well what she told him after Odessa—about the fact the shooter seemed familiar and that she should know him, should trust him.

That had already cost her, he didn’t want it to cost her anything more.

With a subtle lift of her shoulders, she pirouetted to face him. Sometimes her gracefulness took his breath away.

“Except for the airport, every time I’ve come across Barnes he’s tried to kill me.”

“I’m _aware_. So why the hell would you be _testing_ your stupid ass theory on a guy who could kill you with one hard punch?”

Nat did roll her eyes this time. “First, he can’t kill me with one hit unless he gets damn lucky. Second, I was ready to move. I had three counters for just about any motion he could make. Third, he’s supposed to be getting better but there’s no way in hell anyone is going to trust him until he proves trustworthy.”

“So you risk yourself for fucking Rogers?” Something hot burst inside of him, as though she’d managed to find his very last nerve and snapped it. “Nat, I know you care about him, but enough to let his best friend maybe kill you? You don’t think that wouldn’t fuck up Rogers for life?”

It had taken everything in him not to throw the knife, he had the right angle. He could have hit him right through the carotid. Game over.

“I risked myself for myself,” Nat told him, her eyes going glacial. “I don’t like to be afraid. You know that.”

Oh, did he know that. Banner scared the hell out of her, so what does she do? Flirt with Banner. Nightmares about captivity and her past woke her for years, raging, screaming nightmares every night. What did she do? Started playing the capture card to run her interrogations as a prisoner. “You’re killing me, Tasha.”

“I’m not trying to,” she said, and her voice softened with the hint of apology. “Look, Steve’s wound too tight. He needed to spar to let off some steam. I know how to spar with him, I’ve done it for years and I needed it too. I needed to get rid of this restlessness eating me upside. Too many questions, not enough answers. Then you wanted to spar and it’s been a while.”

“It has,” he relented. “Sometimes I think it’s been too long.”

“And that was fun, right?” Was she asking him or telling him?

“Barnes?” He sidestepped her question and returned to his own. “From the moment you walked in, you had his attention. Then you and Steve hit the ring, and he hopped off the treadmill to follow. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“I don’t know what to do with that.” That held a ring of truth. She tossed her towel onto some dirty clothes in the corner then padded into her bathroom. The water came on, and she stepped out. “We can keep talking, but I have to wash this off before I itch and I don’t have to smell my own stink for an op.”

“Fine,” he said following her to the bathroom and leaning against the wall just outside the open door, his gaze resolutely on the bedroom. Her laptop sat on the nightstand, open, but playing a screen saver. There was a tablet on her bed. It looked a lot like the one Barnes tried to give her the night before. “So you don’t know what to do with Barnes watching you, but you wanted to test him when he got in the ring?”

“Instinct,” she called finally. “When he was in the ring staring at me, volunteering to spar, it—”

 _Kill me._ He groaned. “It felt familiar.” Not a question.

“Yes,” she admitted. “So I tested it, I _know_ he isn’t really ready to spar and I don’t think a fight would be good for him right now anyway. Our interactions appear to always be hostile.”

“Except for the airport.” Which, he had to admit; she had a point there.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice pitched to carry over the water. “But that could have simply been a lack of opportunity. Who else was I going to fight? The super soldiers? The guy who can fly…” She could totally take Sam and had taken Steve down plenty of times. “The girl who can throw things with her mind? Or the little guy?”

“Hey,” Clint argued. “So what, you chose me out of default?”

“Did you want to fight Iron Man or War Machine? Really?” Her snort carried and Clint shook his head.

“Not the point. And you got Scott. He mentioned it later.”

“Slippery little prick tried to put me in an arm lock. Guess no one mentioned the bites.” The water turned off in time for the smugness in her tone to carry.

Laughing, he shook his head. “For the record, Scott thinks you’re hot as hell, but he’s too crazy to try and tap that.”

A moment later, she passed him wrapped in a thick towel. “Please tell me he said that in front of Steve.”

Clint smirked. “Oh yeah.”

“And how did _Scott_ react to Captain America’s look of disapproval?”

His laugh turned to a genuine guffaw as he walked over to drop onto her bed. “Pretty much like any fanboy would. I thought he might pee himself. Then of course, Sam let him know that he’d have to get in line.”

Her snort made his grin wider.

“But since you’re trying to get us off topic, back to the game with Barnes, Nat.”

“You are relentless,” she said with a flicking motion before ducking into the closet to change. “And get your stinky ass off my bed.”

With exaggerated irritation, he climbed off the bed and took the tablet with him. A touch of the screen opened the neural report from the doctors in Wakanda. So this was the tablet Barnes arrived with.

She hadn’t taken it the night before, in fact, she’d very deliberately not taken it. Then she ushered he and Tony inside and away from Barnes. It had been a good play, and they’d ended up in a game room Tony had tucked in the back where he and Tony played Mario Kart while Nat made fun of them. It helped to ease the tension back from the edge.

“Other than his temper tantrum this morning, he acted more like a guy who wanted to get into my pants than anything else.” Nat walked out of the closet wearing dark green stretch pants, and thick white sweater that his her mid-thigh. She still had the towel in her hand and worked it against her damp hair as she walked over to the patio doors. They had at least an inch or two of snow covering the landscape, and it was still falling.

“Well the tantrum was related to Ross sharing that beautiful set of images of you in a torture chair.” He cut a sideways glance at her, but she didn’t look away from the window.

“Makes sense.” She sighed, “Clint, I played chicken to see what he would do because he showed up in my room this morning after my run.”

Everything stilled in him. “What?”

Nat pivoted from the window to face him. Scrubbed free, damp hair and too big sweater, and she looked so painfully young. “I went out running this morning, pretty early. No one else was awake. Steve joined me after a while, but we just ran and talked. When I got back, I came up here to shower. After the shower—came out in my towel and poof—Winter Soldier standing right next to my closet.”

“Before breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t _say_ anything? Wait—why am I asking this, you never say anything.” Clint pressed the heel of his hand against his eye and blew out a breath.

“He wanted to give me the data pad. He seems to think I’m a handler or something. But he wanted me to have it. It was important enough, he slipped out of his room, climbed over the roof and dropped onto my balcony—after figuring out which room was mine.” There was a hint of admiration in her voice.

“Tasha. No.” He pointed a finger at her and she glanced over her shoulder, all innocent.

“What?”

“No,” he repeated and shook his head. “You are not going to engage in some kind of game with him. But at least now I know why he was all flirty with you at breakfast.”

Twisting to face him, she tilted her head. “But that’s just it. He wasn’t like that in here at all…even his eyes were different. He spoke Russian, and he didn’t flirt. He was…I hesitate to use the word earnest, but deeply sincere. It was _vital_ that he get me that information.”

The guy at breakfast had been hitting on her with almost graceless abandon. Enough to infuriate Stark and Rogers both. Nat hadn’t paid him the slightest bit of attention. But then most red-blooded males around her tended to turn into gibbering idiots when they saw only the packaging. Those guys weren’t worthy of the woman underneath at all.

“If it helps, when he asked me about his mission I told him to find James Buchanan Barnes.” A wry twist on her lips. “Maybe that was what breakfast was all about.”

“How did Friday not track his movements?” The sudden realization hit him. “Tony was very clear…”

“I know, but I turn off monitoring where I am. You know that.”

“But he got out of his room…and you didn’t tell Tony, did you?” It really wasn’t a question, and her small shrug told him he knew why. Of course, he knew why. It all went to hell over pancakes. “Okay,” he exhaled. “One problem at a time.”

“Excellent idea, why don’t you start with a shower?”

He hefted the data pad. “You need to tell Steve, and give this back. Then we need to work on why the monitoring is letting him move around freely.” Because his heart was not going to settle on the idea of Barnes or the Soldier or whoever he was not snapping in Nat’s general direction.

His behavior around her had been erratic at best.

She plucked the tablet from his hands, and tossed it on the bed. Then interlacing her fingers with his, she tugged him to the door. “Agreed. We can talk to him in a little while.”

When she got agreeable, he got suspicious but he let her lead him out of her room and then down the hall to his own. “Good. When are you planning on leaving?”

“I haven’t decided,” she said, but at least she didn’t try to play dumb. “I still need to go through the files from London. I managed to do a bit in Paris, but then things went off the rails. Friday’s doing some work for me right now.”

“Okay.” He could be agreeable, too. “Do me the favor of respecting me enough to keep me in the loop, no ducking out around midnight to leave me chasing your ass across Europe.”

She gave him a shove toward his bathroom. “I will not duck out. You will see me go.”

“Ha.” He snorted, but she flipped him the bird. In the bathroom, he turned on his shower then checked to find her leaning against the wall just outside his bathroom as he’d done with her. “It’s cute that you think I’m going to just watch you walk out there alone with no back up.”

“Clint,” Nat said, meeting his gaze. “You have a _family_. Whether you and Laura are together or not—which don’t think I’ve forgotten—your kids still need their dad.”

“They need their Aunt Nat, too. If you believe you’re taking a one way ticket on this little journey of blood letting and ledger cleaning, then you need to talk to your travel agent, because I do not accept that.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Zhopa.”

“You know I know what that means, right?” He stripped off the workout clothes, before stepping into the shower. He didn’t need to do much more than wash off, and give his hair a quick wash. His shower took five minutes. It took him a couple of minutes to towel off. After hanging the towel up, he grabbed the sweaty clothes and shoes and marched out of the bathroom.

Nat still leaned against the wall, her gaze on the window and not his bare ass. It might have affected his ego once upon a time, but at this point they’d seen each other at their worst, what was there to gawk at?

“Are you going to tell me about you and Laura?” Her voice had gone to that soothing, quiet place. The voice she reserved for middle of the night talks at two in the morning when the rest of the world slept.

He dragged on a pair of boxers before he said, “I really don’t want to talk about it. And it’s not because it’s you.” Putting it all into words… “Nat I fucked up. I put my work before my family time and again. I put what I do above what I love because I love what I do. If I talk to you about it, it becomes even more real.”

“It’s not like you to pretend,” she soothed. “You’re the guy who told me that putting a name on what you fear takes away its power to hurt you.”

“Yeah well, I’m also an idiot. We’ve established this.” The room was a little chilly for just his boxers and freshly showered skin. He dug out a t-shirt, and a new pair of jeans. Unlike Tash and her bare feet, he perched on the edge of the bed to put on socks after he got dressed.

Flopping back on the bed, he held out his hand. “C’mere.”

She crossed the room and crawled up next to him, then curled against his side as he wrapped his arms around her. This way he could talk to her and not have to look her in the eye. Yes, he cheated, but he needed the support of his best friend and he didn’t want to see any disappointment in her eyes. As bad as failing Laura and the kids was, he hated failing Tasha on top of it all.

“After Loki—I didn’t tell Laura what happened.” Admitting that was like ripping open a nearly closed wound. “I told you I was going home, and then I called her and said I needed to finish a debrief. What I did was get a few bottles of Jack Daniels, then squirreled myself away in a hotel for a few days and got blackout drunk. Once I survived the hangover, and about a dozen showers, I let myself go home and I didn’t say a word about the mind control, the mental recalibration, none of it.”

“Clint…”

“Shh,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m only doing this once so just let me finish.” He’d asked Nat later to not bring it up when at the farm, better to not dig up bad memories. Since she had enough of her own, she had never questioned it.

She flattened her palm against his chest, and nodded against his shoulder.

Tightening his arms to give her a little squeeze, he blew out a breath. “I took the next month off, Fury had given me six weeks. Two weeks binging. Four weeks at home. Then I told Laura I had to head back out on a mission. Instead, I came in and went through another debrief, then psych counseling and three months of desk work. No one was sure I should be back in the field.”

That had stung like hell, but Clint hadn’t fought it. He’d cost agents their lives. Killed some of them himself. Coulson was dead because Clint led a raid on the hellicarrier and there was no antidote for blood on his hands.

“So I sucked it up, and did the job. I didn’t go home on the weekends cause that wasn’t how Laura and I worked. I maintained my rotations. Then Fury tasked me on a couple of extractions. Then a few others. All low key milk runs, but hey you do what you gotta do.” He sighed, and fuck had he hated those damn milk runs. Worse, he’d hated that Tasha was out there running missions without him. He didn’t even know where she was half the time. Rogers had slipped into Clint’s spot on the STRIKE Team, and become Tasha’s partner and Clint worked the dregs in the far corners of the globe.

It was what it was.

“Then SHIELD fell. You sent me the word, you had me dump out of the team I was with and by the time the hammer came down, I was hundreds of miles away from them, and thousands from you. All I could do was watch the fall out on the news. I’d been less than useless.” And then he’d gotten blackout drunk again for three days before he’d remembered he needed to call his wife. “I went through the data you dumped, found no mention of the farm or Iowa, or Laura. I knew you’d keep them safe, I knew it, but I had to check. Then I went home, and I couldn’t just play it off like everything was okay.”

No, he’d walked in like he had every other time, calling out a greeting to find Laura with red-rimmed eyes. The fight they’d had that night had been epic. She couldn’t believe he’d said nothing, instead he’d sent her a generic all ok message. In retrospect, he hadn’t considered how not okay Laura would be with a three word coded message and nothing else. The fall of SHIELD had been on the news, the ties to Hydra, the exposes—Nat!

Even as he tried to describe all of it, words failed him. “She was righteously pissed at me, and all I could do was tell her sorry. But I wasn’t sorry I hadn’t told her, well except for the part that she found out about it on the news. If I could have never let her know it, I would have kept them insulated. She was so glad I was out, and I was safe, and no more SHIELD, no more missions. I didn’t tell her any different, and that lasted a little while—then Tony called and I was on a flight to New York by the next day.”

Nat’s breath warmed his neck, and he took comfort in the fact she hadn’t retreated, even an inch. God, this was why he hadn’t wanted to do this. Nat respected him, her friendship was everything—he couldn’t bear it if she looked at him like the asshole he’d been.

“I told myself I was protecting them. Treated the Avengers like I was still at SHIELD, took a weekend a month, a week or two here and there, and mostly stayed at the tower. When Laura told me she was pregnant again, I hadn’t been home in five weeks and I almost asked her how. And before you say anything, yeah, I know I’m an idiot. Then I got hit going after Strucker and Ultron happened…” He drew a circle with his thumb against Nat’s arm, the softness of the sweater soothed him.

“For the first time since I brought you there, my work life and my home life collided.” He’d hated it. At first he’d thought it was just the situation, but it was so much more. “Nat, I worked…a _long_ time to keep Laura and the kids insulated away from SHIELD away from that part of my life because that part is dark, and ugly, and bloody. That part includes kill orders for sassy redheaded assassins and other, less desirable, riff raff. I killed people. I raided. I stole. I did what needed to be done, but there will always be blood on my hands, and I will probably always be more comfortable with violence and conflict, than peace.”

What was it SHIELD had done? They were trying to secure the world for peace. The Avengers were there to fight the fights no one else could. They were still fighting them, even if the world painted them with a wicked brush.

He sighed, daring to glance down at her. Nat’s gaze was far away, but her expression was intent. Damn, she probably listened to everything he said and everything he didn’t. Nat read people way too damn well.

“Needless to say, Laura assumed after Ultron, after we got back Loki’s scepter that it was over. I could finally come home and just be a farmer, be there for the kids, and learn to be husband who was around. Nate was born, and that took up all our time. New babies are exhausting. Cooper and Lila taught me that, but there we were doing it again. Then we had the routine down, and I was bored. Bored with my own family, and not a little bit disgusted with myself.”

The next part was the hardest.

“A few more weeks go by, and I’m doing everything I can to stay busy, to make the best of it all. I _know_ this is what Laura has been expecting for years, and why not? It’s what I told her I would do. Then the months dragged on, and we weren’t talking, we’d taken more to talking at each other than with, she found a lot of my habits—ones she used to think were cute when I was home for a long weekend—really irritating now that I was home all the time. Then one night, after you called—it was post some mission you guys did in South America, something about the team finally starting to work together and you sounded so damn relieved. I hadn’t realized until then all the tension in your voice as you were trying to adapt to this new circumstance with people you didn’t really know and now you had to trust…”

Clint glared at the ceiling. “It hit me, I’d been doing the same thing. I’ve known Laura since we were high school. She went to college, and I went into the army. Our relationship was comprised of leaves, in and around training, and then later combat stations. When I got out, I ended up in SHIELD, and Fury helped me secure Laura somewhere safe, we got married then we got pregnant almost right away because she’d waited all that time I was deployed. Nat, I don’t really even know my wife. If you added up all the leaves and weekends, we’d lived together maybe fourteen months out of over nearly a decade of marriage? Fourteen months. We were strangers.”

And the day he’d realized that, he’d hated himself. He’d hated Nat, too. Because she’d found herself with strangers and made it work.

“Laura and I sat down that night and I asked her if she was happy. She said no. Then she asked me what we could do and we spent the most miserable few weeks trying to be these people we thought the other was until she told me no, she couldn’t do it anymore. We had to do better for our kids, and if better meant our marriage was over so our friendship could survive, so we could be better people for our kids, so we could find happiness? Then…done. We decided to try once more…one last real effort.”

It had probably been a lot more painful than that for Laura, but she had a way of cutting right through all the bullshit. She was hurting, and Clint fucking hated being the one hurting her.

“Then Cap called…and I had my bag in hand and halfway out the door. She called me on it, and she was right to. I said we would try, really try and then one phone call and I had a bag in hand, a bag I’d kept ready and stocked for months. I was never going to stop, and stay. Not really. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how eager I was to just _go._ She filed for divorce, and it sounds awful—but I feel better. So does she, I think. She seems…more at ease.” Which brought them full circle. “Okay, now you know. So you can talk again, thank you for listening.”

Nat leaned upward and then stretched to press a kiss to his nose, before snuggling back to his chest again. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. Then… “You don’t hate me, do you Tash?”

“No,” she whispered without hesitation. “I’m just so sorry. I thought you and Laura were perfect. You and your kids—I never had a family Clint. The Red Room literally beat it out of me, the need for others to reach out to them. If you had a friend in the Red Room, they put you in situations where one had to kill the other. Before you and Laura, I didn’t even know a family could look like that somewhere that wasn’t the decadent western television and films.” Her little snort of derision in the middle couldn’t mask the disappointment in her voice.

God, she sounded like Lila. When they’d told the kids, Coop and Lila had rolled with it better than he thought possible. Especially since Clint had to do his part via video call from half-a-world away. They were disappointed, but they were used to him being gone and they hadn’t missed the tension in the house. Lila had told him she loved him immediately though, and told him it was okay, but just like Nat, it hurt because they’d let them down.

“Sorry kid,” he said, and told himself his gruff voice was the need for water after a workout. “And you have a family. You have me. You have Laura. You have the kids. I’m willing to wager after the last few days you have Tony and Steve, too. You’re not alone, Tash. We’ve got you.”

“You’re not alone, either,” she reminded him. “But I am really am sorry.” Then she hugged him, and dammit Clint felt the burn of tears. He tried to blink them away but they didn’t listen to him worth a damn. He’d held it together for Laura, for the kids, for the fugitives, and even for Steve. He wanted to hold it together for Tash, but the fact she let him hold her and held him in return…it broke through it all.

He pressed his face against her hair, and she said nothing while he cried just petted his chest and let him. It took a while, and he lost track of how long they were there, before the tears finally stopped. His face felt puffy, like he’d taken a beating but his soul felt a bit better.

“Ms. Romanoff?” Friday almost sounded apologetic. “Captain Rogers is asking for you, and Mr. Stark is on the line and would also like to speak to you.”

“Go,” Clint said, sitting up with her and giving her a nudge. “Go be the center of attention. Your boys need you.” He could even say that with a straight face, because no matter what those guys thought or did, Clint had known her first. Loved her first, and loved her longer.

“Idiot.” She rubbed away some of the dampness on his cheek.

“Always.” He met her smirk with one of his own, and then she turned away but not before he caught her wiping a tear from her cheek and his heart did a little twist.

“Friday, please tell Captain Rogers I will come find him in a few minutes. I’m going back to my room and I’ll talk to Mr. Stark there.”

Then she was gone, and Clint flopped back on the bed. As exhausted as he was, he couldn’t linger up here. They still had to deal with the London information, Nat’s mostly secretive and inadvisable plans in Russia, the brainwashed war hero and former assassin, a stubborn Captain America, a determined Tony Stark, and a vicious retired general turned Secretary of State out for blood.

Huh.

He could probably kill one of them at least. That would make life a little easier.


	21. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's preoccupied by all the fires he has to deal with when he gets back to the States. Friday provides him with some answers he isn't sure he wanted anymore.

Chapter Twenty-One

_Will that be all Mr. Stark?_

 

Tony

 

Tony spent the first hour in flight going over all the security protocols with Friday. Her attention would be somewhat diverted to the chalet. The distraction could be problematic if he were going into a heavy combat situation. Between the two of them, however, they determined the best division of labor.

Frankly, Tony wanted Friday monitoring Barnes more than anything else. Nat tended to turn off monitoring in her rooms, she always had. Friday would be on voice authorized mode only. Of course, Tony had barely left when Natasha asked Friday to do pattern recognition.

“Do it baby girl, if she asks for help, do what you can for her. Even if you can’t check with me.” Friday determined it used less than two percent of her capacity to perform the task, then she resumed running the lists down with Tony.

“I have updates on the searches you wanted me to conduct,” Friday told him. “Also Ms. Potts is in meetings with legal, and requested that you give her a couple of hours so she has the full picture before we conference her in. Colonel Rhodes is still dealing with the search of the compound.”

“How’s that going?” If the search continued, what exactly were they looking for? They’d been there a long time.

“The agents who served the warrant have packed up Ms. Romanoff’s room entirely, down to the furniture. They are also removing the carpeting, and vents.” Thorough. Useless but thorough. “Among the items inventoried were half dozen firearms, a great assortment of blades—including the kaiken and tanto set mounted on the wall, and two paintings, Georgia O’Keefe Black Iris, and a Jackson Pollock, Masterpiece number 5.”

Tony had given her those blades, and he’d thought she’d use them rather than display them but Nat had merely smiled and held up the tanto to the light. _“Some weapons are weapons, and some are works of art. This is really stunning, Tony. Thank you.”_ The remark caught him off guard, he’d gotten her knives because what the hell else did you get an assassin? As it turned out, she’d found meaning in the gift and he’d appreciated it. He’d caught Nat admiring the Pollock and simply moved it to her rooms at the tower and later to the compound, the Black Iris he’d had added during the compound redesign because it reminded him of her.

“Make a note to let legal know we’ll be filing to get all those pieces returned, dig up the receipts for them, and we’ll prepare a case that those were my purchases and only displayed in her quarters—kind of like the furniture, and the carpet.” Bastards.

“Got it, Boss.” Then Friday continued detailing items on a list in his HUD. Most of it were innocuous items—underwear, toothpaste, a tin of specialty teas, some laughably bad pun mugs, and…

“Friday, scroll back. They are cataloguing books?” Nat had a huge collection of them, normally in stacks in various places around the tower and later the compound common rooms, but some always made it back to her room. Those, he’d always assumed, were the important ones likely because she re-read them.

“Yes, Boss. They’re pulling some of the books apart, too. Looking for any hidden data devices.”

Fuck. Add another tick into the box of Ross was a dick. Natasha downplayed the importance of the books, but the fact she never stopped bringing in new ones and read so much put paid to the idea of it being only a hobby.

“Are any of them specialty editions? First editions?” Sometimes the copies she’d carried around had been beaten to hell, and even the spines were unreadable. Didn’t seem to slow her down any.

“Not sure, Boss.” And yeah, why would Friday know that? JARVIS might have, JARVIS had on occasion recommended books to Nat. They might not have thought he’d noticed, but he did. Nat didn’t want JARVIS watching her all the time, but she didn’t mind talking to him or engaging in a debate.

“Fine, we’ll see about getting them back or at least making them pay for new copies for her if they destroyed them out of petty spite.” A headache had been nagging at the back of his eye.

“Okay, searches—talk to me. What do we have?” He rolled his neck slightly, but maintained his course and speed. The nano-tech worked better than he anticipated and the fractal dampening he’d added muted his radar signature. He would appear more a ghost on their screens, coming and going intermittently. Not quite the stealth he wanted, they’d have to deal with that upgrade soon. The nanites, however, flowed over him like silk when he’d activated it and then hardened into the multi-purpose shell more shock absorbent, capable of repairs on the fly, and best of all, powered by a series of mini arc reactors which spread out with the armor. Most were redundancies, but their presence meant the armor could repair faster.

No one would leave him locked down in a damn suit again.

“Boss, your respiration and pulse are rising. Perhaps breathing exercises before going over the data?” The hovering notes in Friday’s tones had come through the evolution of her AI, as far as he knew, he hadn’t programmed the need to coddle him in there. Of course, JARVIS did something similar, only with a hell of a lot more disdain and snark.

He really had been perfect.

“Just letting my mind wander too far afield,” he reassured the program. The last few days with Rogers hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as he expected. Even his reticence over Barnes—he was never going to be the guy’s greatest fan, but he didn’t feel a near homicidal need to kill him anymore.

Huh. Maybe he was growing as a person.

Or more likely, he had bigger assholes to fry.

He had another six and a half hours to fly west toward New York. “You have my attention. Let me have it.”

“You requested a search and cross reference on the terms Sao Paulo, Drakov’s daughter, and a hospital fire related to Miss Romanoff or one of her aliases.” The reminder sent a pulse of guilt through his gut.

“Pause.” He had initiated the search before he went to London, before encountering Barton and Rogers, and eventually finding Nat in Vienna.

Vienna, where Rogers’ pushing her on the topic of the Red Room triggered her into some kind blackout/panic attack/violent mode. Did he have the right to keep digging into this? Nat admitted to not remembering some things though—an image of the machine on news flashed through his mine. Mind altering. Brainwashing. Programming. Training.

It all seemed like something out of a science fiction horror movie. But since he currently traversed the Atlantic in a suit constructed from nano technology that had only been theoretical a couple of years earlier—he couldn’t label any of it as impossible.

Nat didn’t remember everything, which meant she couldn’t defend against it all. Ross was gunning for her on all fronts, and if there was information out there to be mined, then Tony needed to know if only to bury it or at least cut off Ross and anyone else coming for her.

“Continue,” he said, heart heavy.

“Cross-referencing SHIELD files with Brazilian Intelligence Services indicates an operative with the codename Black Widow may have been active in Sao Paulo in the late eighties. Reports vary, but a series of assassinations took place in May and June of 1988, including three notable Russian defectors all names redacted, Alfonso Ramos, considered a shoe-in for the next presidential election, Marta Jimenez, an American activist making inroads into reforms, as well as Kurt MacGruder of MacGruder Technologies.”

Tony recognized that last name.

“MacGruder was also, at the time of his death, working in concert with Stark Industries on a variable prototype for a new process of fusion to eliminate nuclear waste.”

That’s why Tony knew the name. Probably heard his father talk about him…

“Further, MacGruder is also listed under those notable for having given their lives in service to SHIELD. MacGruder’s death, however, occurred during an attack on the American embassy in Sao Paulo, fourteen dead. His body was later discovered, but not with those participating in a meeting.”

“No details on the meeting, I’m assuming?”

“Boss, even the names of the people in that room were redacted from the files. Brazilian Intelligence called them foreign collateral and most likely involved in intelligence. None of the files list cause of death. As far as I can determine, no autopsies took place. MacGruder was reportedly there on private business, instead of SHIELD…”

Tony had to wonder if he’d been Hydra. They’d been embedded so deep into the organization his father helped to found.

“So, the assassin penetrated embassy security, then somehow reached an even more secure room, killed all these other intelligence operatives through some means not detailed, and got out. But MacGruder, the target they are crediting to the other string of assassinations was killed somewhere else within the compound?” If he thought about it too long, he would have a headache. Spies and their doublespeak overlaying more doublespeak.

“More or less, Boss. It took cross-referencing a few reports to put it together. SHIELD’s seemed the most complete, yet it was also sanitized of details. Encryption notes on the file show it was updated several times in the intervening years up until around the time of Ms. Romanoff’s recruitment.”

“Wait—they were updating the file on Sao Paulo for more than a decade after the fact? And instead of being clear on the details, more were removed?” Then because he didn’t have enough problems, he had to ask, “I don’t suppose the meta data listed the source of the updates?”

“Director Carter on all occasions save the last one.”

“Let me guess, Director Fury?”

“No Boss. Alexander Pierce.”

Pierce was definitely Hydra. Since Nat dumped the files out onto the net, they were the only source of the data. Given enough time and ingenuity, he and Friday might be able to put together the fragments of the original reports… “Okay, let’s put that one on the backburner. Maybe we can find a hard copy of the file. Aunt Peggy preferred hard copies.”

“Understood Boss. Shall I continue or would you like a break? You’re sounding stressed and you still have another five hours and forty-five minutes of flight time left.” The worst part was what he wanted was a drink, but unlike his jet, he couldn’t just have a drink while heading back to the States on the down low.

Probably a good thing.

“Keep going.” Even if he suspected he didn’t want to know these things. Natasha had a storied and bloodied past. She had some version of the super soldier serum, it was the only way to explain the rapid way she healed. His work with Friday already linked Erskine to people associated with the hellhole where she was raised. The rest was a logical supposition on his part, but enough he didn’t want to press it with her.

Banner and Rogers had both been coveted for their blood. Banner had been on the run for years to keep the other guy manageable and his blood away from people like Ross who wanted to dissect him. Rogers was a national icon, and he didn’t mind doing his part for the cause but he also wouldn’t sit around for their endless tests. They couldn’t get away with locking him in a laboratory.

Nat wasn’t the other guy and she wasn’t a national icon.

No, he would keep that information to himself and keep it from turning up in searches.

“Drakov’s daughter,” he prompted Friday. Forty minutes later when Friday finished her recitation, he struggled with the revelations. It was one thing to know, intellectually, Nat had committed some serious crimes. He always thought her a little dramatic when she mentioned the red in her ledger, but recalling Loki’s words, he couldn’t help agreeing. Her ledger was positively gushing, and she’d killed in the service of liars and killers.

Honestly, he was glad Friday hadn’t been able to pin down an event to tie the Black Widow to a hospital fire. His imagination could conjure enough horrors. None of which he wanted to associate with her. In his mind’s eye, he could see her standing on the balcony as he took off earlier, and the hint of a smile when he told her to go ahead and miss him.

And—fuck—she’d also worked with the Winter Soldier. General Drakov’s death had been credited to the Winter Soldier in the mid-sixties. But the daughter was found dead just around the corner and away from her father. No way _that_ was a coincidence.

Nat didn’t remember a lot of things, but did she really not remember working with the tool that had been used to kill his parents? Did that make her more or less…what in his eyes?

Natasha Romanoff was still Natasha Romanoff, no matter who she had been born or what she had done. Yet…fuck. He needed to talk to her, but what the hell did he say? _Hey, I did some digging into your past and I really want to clarify some of these crimes you committed, and you know, you seem to remember those so how the hell don’t you remember other things?_

That would go over well.

Yet, he couldn’t escape the sinking feeling in his gut. He’d intruded on this dark and bloody past, even when he’d known it would be dark and bloody. Could he really blame her for those acts? Could he blame her if she had been in thrall to another?

If that were the case, then how wrong had he been about the Winter Soldier? Not that those thoughts hadn’t already plagued him, but something fundamental seemed to be shifting in his gut and locked in his suit, flying hell for leather back to the States to deal with Ross, the raids on the tower and the compound, and potential threats to his company and his people—his friends—it was like waking in that damn cave hooked up to a car battery all over again.

But he didn’t have Yinsen to set him straight this time, only his own warped conscience.

“Call Rhodey, Friday.”

She connected the call immediately and the corner of his HUD lit up with the contact info. And he answered on the second ring, “Hey Mr. Stank, give me a moment to step into the office.”

“Really Platypus? I’m having an existential crisis—and maybe a stential one. I’m undecided at the moment.”

“Stential’s not a real word, Mr. Stank, and while I understand your concern, we have guests at the moment.” The sound of a door closing, then security chime announcing the soundproof seal was in effect. “Better. Not lots better, but better.” Rhodey’s voice went low and rough. “I’ve darkened the glass in here so they can’t read my lips if any of them can do that.”

“They aren’t all Romanoff,” Tony said with a wry smile.

“Not sure whether to be glad for that or worried,” Rhodey admitted. “Tony this is a mess. Pepper’s been all up in arms since they dropped in on us—nice timing, hitting in the middle of the night when folks are too tired to think about arguing.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, guess I should stop putting Ross on hold.” Not that he thought it would help. Ross wasn’t after Tony yet. He might want to catch Tony in the blowback, but he had a very specific target.

“I don’t think that would have changed things. The committee called yesterday, they said the Avengers are to stand down any operations involving bringing Romanoff in.” Rhodey didn’t ask him what he’d been doing that might have earned that order, and Tony didn’t volunteer. The committee didn’t know or the conversation would be entirely different. They were attempting to be preemptive.

“Whatever is going on is a lot bigger than us…”

“Hey now, you start challenging my ego like that and I’m going to have to take a stand.”

“Please God, don’t do that Tony. I mean it.” Impatience crept into Rhodey’s voice, edging right alongside sympathy. “I know you care and I know she hurt you, but we might be better off just staying out of this. These are axes that go back to long before we knew her.”

“You know something, Honeybear. You want to share with the class?” Despite the privacy on the line—and Friday would have notified him if someone cracked the encryption and tried to listen in—Rhodey sounded worried. More than worried.

Maybe a little scared.

The man ended up with a broken back and spinal damage after a battle, and he’d made jokes without a hint of fear. He’d faced what he needed to do to get back on his feet without flinching. What the hell was scaring his Rhodey?

“Old friend at the Pentagon gave me a heads up…the CIA is involved, so is Homeland, there’s noise coming out that Russia wants her back, and at least a dozen other countries are lobbying for extradition.”

Okay, not far out of the realm of possibility. The worldwide manhunt had made it rather clear she had few friends and allies left. “Okay, that’s the big picture stuff. What’s the bite sized version?” What part of all this would bite them in the ass?

“They tore her room here in the compound down to the studs. I mean they even took the drywall residue, and all electronic surveillance monitoring equipment.” Okay the last wasn’t a big deal; Natasha had disabled all of them. “They aren’t playing. Friday said they did the same thing at the tower. We’ve kept them out of your workshops, but they wanted access to any area she could lay claim to. Legal is fighting it…cause Romanoff didn’t make this place her legal address. In fact, she doesn’t seem to have a legal address on file. They are all arguing in front of a judge at the moment, in the meanwhile, they’re all standing around making sure we don’t move anything.”

Not the greatest news, but not the worst. Good to know the legal department were on top of it. “Rhodes...what aren’t you saying?”

“There’s a case being pushed through a FISA court.” Whoever Rhodey’s friend was at the Pentagon, they had to have better than top-secret clearance. The case could be their way to tie it to Tony. And it would be the smart way to play it—what had Nat said? Come at him sideways. “There’s also a very quiet, but relentless push to have Romanoff’s citizenship revoked. She apparently became a U.S. citizen when she started with SHIELD, but they are citing the fact she lied on her application.”

 _Oh for fuck’s sake, this is making my brain bleed._ “Any idea what she lied about and how they know?” Did she even fill out her own application or was that all courtesy of the currently playing dead Nick Fury whose agent he left to hang in the wind.

“Not a clue, and I’m not going to ask. She’s radioactive. If they pull off that FISA warrant, they’re going to tap into all our communications—into Friday.”

Not happening. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Tony…”

“I said I’ll deal with it. And the citizenship thing?”

“Tony, I don’t think that part is going to matter, the way these guys are acting—the agencies they have involved—if she puts her head up they’re going to blow it off and deal with the fallout before sweeping it under a national security rug.” He sighed. “I know you, Tones. Promise me you’ll sit this out.”

“I would have,” he told him, his tone remarkably light as the unease in his chest and gut gave way to ferocity. Yes, she had a bloody history and she still saved the damn world. She’d still saved him. “But you know how I am when people touch my stuff.”

Rhodey groaned.

“It’s okay, Platypus,” Tony smiled, but he knew it was all teeth and it didn’t matter that Rhodey couldn’t see him. “Embrace plausible deniability, yeah?”

“Tones—if you get in trouble you _call_ me. Clear? This isn’t the fun-vee or palladium poisoning…this is me. We on the same page?”

“Not even in the same book, but you know I can’t quit you.”

Rhodey groaned and Tony grinned for real. “You just had to make it weird.”

“Gotta go, need to call Pepper so she can yell at me, too. End call.” Friday disconnected him immediately and Tony glared at the horizon as he continued his flight. “Friday, up the heat a little in the legs, they’re going to cramp if I get much more chilled.”

The temperature increase eased the aches in his joints. Prolonged flights required he level out, and the lack of movement could get damn uncomfortable. Might need to add some sound wave or electrical stimulus to keep the muscles from going rigid. He made a mental note.

“Ms. Potts is not taking calls at the moment, Boss.”

“Not taking calls or just not taking mine?” He sighed, because Friday didn’t answer which meant she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “It’s okay baby girl, Pepper’s having to clean up my mess again. Make sure we send her something nice…make it a lot of something nice. Maybe hire a personal masseuse. That might be nice for her.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange with her assistant, Boss. We’re about two and half hours now. You could try to sleep if you want me to take over piloting.” It was a sweet offer, but he chose to ignore it for now. Too much on his mind both ahead of him and behind.

“Systems check, how are we doing?”

“We’re at 88.5%, power replenishment and sharing between the reactors is within range, very little bleed off. Durability at 100%, no wind shear or friction damage. Working well within desired specifications.”

Still needed to battle test it. But it would have to wait for a bit.

“Friday, contact Natasha. Tell her I need to talk to her.”

Less than a minute later, Friday said, “Ms. Romanoff asked for a moment, then she would take the call.”

“Everything all right back there?”

“Yes, Boss. Ms. Romanoff wanted to return to her room—Ms. Romanoff is on the line.”

“Hey?” Her husky voice washed over him and all at once he wished he was flying to her instead of steadily away. “Everything all right?”

“I’ve been better,” he told her. “I think I made a mistake.”

“Okay…” She drew out the syllables. “Did you want to talk to me about it?” What he adored about Nat was the way she sliced through his commentary and didn’t assume everything was about her when he made ambiguously broad statements. Even if this time it was actually about her.

“I do and I don’t.” He could admit that. “Can I think about it for a minute?”

“Sure,” she agreed readily. “Can I fill you in a couple of things while you think about it?”

“I would love it if you would.”

“Well, you may change your mind, but let me start at this morning. After my run, I grabbed a shower and when I came out, the Winter Soldier was in my room.”

Tony’s heart stuttered. “What? Barnes was in there?” How the hell had he maneuvered to the other side of the chalet without Friday kicking up an alert?

“No, I mean the Winter Soldier. Spoke only in Russian and he wanted to give me that data pad he brought with him. His attitude and manner were a lot like when he first arrived. Distant, autonomous, but also—on autopilot.”

She waited a beat, but Tony’s mind continued to race. The security measures were there to protect Natasha and Clint, as well as Tony when he’d been present, because the Winter Soldier or James Barnes or whatever he wanted to be called was not the most stable of people.

“Tony, breathe,” Natasha’s order kicked the air out of his lungs and he sucked in another breath. “I’m fine, you saw me afterward, and I was fine.”

“Why didn’t you say something at breakfast? Or before—when I came to get you?”

“Mostly because I didn’t know what to make of it, and then because things were going well at breakfast.”

He couldn’t fault her there. Breakfast had been nice, oddly enough, save for Barnes’ atrocious behavior. “Except for the mad soldier flirting he kept throwing at you.” Tony knew how to behave badly, he’d done it frequently in the past, but something about Barnes rubbed him the wrong way.

 _Because it’s Barnes_. Then a quieter, yet firmer voice added, _and Natasha._

“He wanted a mission from me so I told him to find himself, those were my orders and then I read through the reports that came from the doctors in Wakanda.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not as great as we would like, and no where near as bad as it could be. He’s still in a period of adjustment. But Barnes seems to be responding well to Steve and to Clint.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s responding to you just fine,” was his dry response.

“The Soldier is responding to me, which is weird enough.” She let out a little huff of air. “But we’re fine, I’m going to give the data pad back to he and Steve in a bit, and talk to Steve about all of this. I’m worried about him.”

“Rogers has his bestie back, Nat. He’ll be fine.” Yeah, he was still a little bitter about it all.

“Maybe. Friday’s helping me data mine this information I pulled.”

“Don’t think I didn't notice you changing the subject. Don’t think I don’t know you’ll do everything I tell you not to do. So don’t be careful with him and definitely don’t take precautions.”

“I’m not sure you’ve mastered the art of reverse psychology.” But her tone was amused.

“Give me time, I have a few doctorates under my belt and you’re a graduate study at a whole new level…” The minute the words slipped out he winced. “Nat, I don’t mean like study…”

“It’s fine, I knew what you meant.” Still amused. Okay, he hadn’t set off a verbal grenade which was good.

“I don’t like the Barnes thing.”

“Would you worry a little less if I said Clint didn’t like it either?”

“No, because you still do things Clint doesn’t like.” Then because he had to ask. “Do you like it? That he’s coming to you like that?”

“I’ve asked myself that question a couple of times. I don’t really know what to do with it. It’s useful if he will listen, but there’s an equal chance it’s just a game. I could also have done without it happening right now.”

“Be careful, okay?” Years of working with her told him she’d do exactly what she thought was necessary whether it involved hopping on speeding alien ships or learning to tame the Hulk.

“How about I’ll exercise caution and restraint?” Well, it was something.

“I’d say don’t do anything I wouldn’t…”

“Don’t want to give me that much leeway?”

He laughed. “No, not really.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go.” Then she switched the topic with neat precision. “Friday’s confirmed all six of the target locations I was working on are reflected in all the data mining. She also compared it to what you two took while there. We’re also looking for any commonalities in the actual names on file, but those are all coded.”

Harder to break without a code. “Do you think you’ll know the names?”

“Maybe,” she said without hesitation. “The world is sometimes smaller than we think it is. Is it weird I both hope I do and I don’t?”

“Not weird,” he said considering their predicaments. “If you recognize them, then you already have intel and plans can be made easily, but that also means you’re dealing with fallout from the past—maybe. If you don’t recognize them, then you’re going in blind and you have to anticipate everything. Could be ugly. But no matter what it will be unpredictable and that’s dangerous when you like to know things.”

“It’s like you know me or something.”

“Or something.” A faint smile touched his lips. He wanted to confess digging into her past, investigating the Red Room, and his attempts to deconstruct her history. The words lingered, then died unspoken. Not for the first time in his life, but maybe one of the rarest occasions, he gave consideration to what could happen if he put her in such a vulnerable position.

Knowledge was power and Natasha, like himself, preferred to control the information flow. What others didn’t know would therefore not hurt them.

Tony had zero intentions of ever using the information against her. But would it help her or harm her more to let her know what he’d learned?

“You’re very quiet, did I lose you?” The familiar rasp of her voice skated over him.

“You’ll have to work a lot harder to lose me,” he said, the glib response coming to him easily. Then he sobered. “I want to ask you a question, but I’m not entirely sure how you will take the question.”

“Can’t know until you ask.”

“True.” Not terribly helpful. Making the choice to keep what he’d learned to himself, Tony chose a different tact instead, and said, “You told us your memories aren’t clear… that there seemed to be a great deal you didn’t remember.”

“Yes.” The guarded response had been what he wanted to avoid, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. “I wish I had better words for you, but I don’t know what I don’t know.”

“It’s all gone?” He pressed.

“Not all…imagine taking a dozen different puzzles, and throwing all the pieces together into one giant container. Shake it up, then spill a few out across the floor. You have all these pieces, and they don’t necessarily fit together. I’ve learned to live with it. I try not to look back though lately that’s all I seem to be doing. It sucks…” The barest hint of a catch in her voice and he grimaced.

“I wish it didn’t. I want to know everything about you. I want to know it so whatever Ross is cooking up can’t blindside you. I’m selfish that way.” And he really didn’t like it when other people touched his stuff. He didn’t share that with Nat though. She’d likely take objection to be categorized as his or stuff, maybe both. So, better to keep it to himself in the interests of their friendship.

“Not really sure there’s a way to know it all.” Her snort held no humor.

“Do you want to?” the question slipped out before he could think it all the way through. “I mean if you do, maybe I could help with that. I mean, I could actually. Oh. Hey. That might work. BARF.”

“Excuse me?”

Tony laughed at the very slow, deliberate delivery of those words. “BARF – Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. It’s an extremely costly method of hijacking the hippocampus... to clear traumatic memories. Fortunately, you know the guy with all the reach. We could—we could use it to walk through your memories, maybe flesh them out.”

“I am both horrifically fascinated and utterly repulsed by that idea.” Well at least she was clear on her response. “Tony—my past isn’t pretty. I mean that’s an understatement. It’s filthy. The parts I remember are a shit show of epic shit show proportions. I wake up with nightmares on a regular basis; I get triggered and have blackouts. I don’t know that walking through all of that is even remotely possible for me without losing my mind.”

“We’ll find a way,” he promised her.

“I don’t know who’s crazier some days, you or me.” He could almost picture her shaking her head.

“It’s definitely me, you know I like to be the best.” The wry remark earned him another snort. “Tash—how old are you?”

“You know they say you shouldn’t ask a lady her age.”

And really, she wanted to leave herself open that way? Of course, he would volley back. “Good thing I’m not talking to a lady.”

“Ass.”

“Every day, and twice on Sundays. How old, Tash? Guess if you have to.”

“I don’t know for certain…older than you. Pretty sure.”

“Ha, I’ve always liked a good cougar.”

“In your dreams, Stark.”

“Definitely.” But he was grinning some now. “What’s your earliest memory? Give me something to work with here Red.”

“Battle of Moscow—winter, 1941—I remember stuff before then but it’s not tied to a time, just to a place. Moscow I know because I looked it up after I defected.”

  1. Tony blinked. “How old were you?”



“Still young. We were all given assignments that winter, all of the potential Widows—they sent us to infiltrate Nazi command encircling the city. We were to find the highest ranking officers and kill them.”

“You were a kid, how the hell were you supposed to infiltrate a hostile, foreign military force…?”

“Tony.” A bittersweet smile in her voice. “We were beautiful young girls, and they were lonely men far from home. Age didn’t really matter. It was very easy to get in, it was getting out that was hard.”

He swallowed bile. “I hate them, Tash…the people who did this to you. I hate them.”

“Don’t tear yourself up. It was a long time ago,” she soothed him. “I’m a survivor. It’s what I do.”

Silence filled the line. Nat shouldn’t have to comfort him. “I was in a cave for three months. It changed how I thought, how I fought, and what I fought for. I can’t—I can’t imagine you being in that cave that young.”

“Then don’t try. I mean it, don’t.”

But a part of him couldn’t help it, and needed to know. Needed for her to not be alone in her cave. He’d had Yinsen. Who the hell did she have? He didn’t want to voice the question aloud; too certain the answer would be no one. “Who else knows? About your age?”

Belatedly he thought of the pictures Friday had found from 1952 and later in the 60s. All Nat. It had to have been her.

“Fury and Clint. Coulson knew, but…” She didn’t have to finish the thought. Agent had died, and he’d left a sizeable hole Tony hadn’t realized he’d even appreciated before he was gone. “We compartmentalized. At first Fury didn’t believe me, but the blood work they did backed it up, so they decided to destroy all the samples, and the tests. It became an undocumented fact between us. Turns out being paranoid pays off when you end up working for Hydra.”

“Erskine emigrated to Russia for a few years after World War I, and before Aunt Peggy got him out of Germany.” They were just all about the sharing today, and still he couldn’t get the image of Nat as a little kid letting soldiers take her into their camp all the while understanding what might happen to her, just so she could kill someone.

Time machine. If he ever built one… so many people to go and remove from the gene pool.

“You’ve really been doing your research.” The soft rasp of her voice pulled him back from the edge.

“I like to be thorough.”

“I know you do, now I need you to do something for me.”

He was all ears. “What do you need?”

“I need you to dial back your temper, your desire to fix it, to pull everything apart and study how it works so you can make everything better. I need you to engage that brain of yours. I need you to see the problems in front of you, especially the ones involving weapons being aimed in your direction. De-escalation is a perfectly reasonable plan, and I know, the very definition of anti-Tony Stark.”

“I can de-escalate.” Yes, he was a little miffed.

“You called out a terrorist and his entire organization on national television and gave them your address.”

“In retrospect, I could have handled that one better.”

“Friday, stop recording this call if you are—”

“Boss?”

“Do what the lady asks, Fri.” He was curious to see where this went.

“Remember when Steve asked you what you were without that suit?”

“Genius. Playboy. Billionaire. Philanthropist.” He ticked all the boxes off automatically.

“Exactly. I’m going to say this once, and I need you to hear me. You’re a genius. It’s the first thing I knew about you. It’s the first thing everyone knows about you, but the rest of that shiny package is very distracting. This is a good thing.” Her confidence warmed him. “It makes people underestimate you. You’re paranoid, that’s healthy. It’s a good way not to die. Now I need you to be better. I need you to not die, and use your brain. You’re flying in there ready to take on Ross and the rest of the world, but we don’t need to take on the world…”

“…we need to change it,” Tony said slowly. The embers of the idea born in the chalet fanned to flames once more. “We change the rules.”

“See, I knew you were a genius.” Smug. Damn the woman. “Now I have to go, Steve’s waiting to talk to me and I need to get back to review my possible targets.”

The last thing he wanted to do was say goodbye, but she was right. They had work to do.

“Nat…go to my suite. Friday will connect us there.”

Less than a minute later, she said, “I’m here.”

“Go to the closet in the bedroom.”

“Are you going to encourage me to steal your clothes Stark? I told you it’s more fun when I do it myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. You still wore my hoodie.”

“Tony…” The breathy frame of his name confirmed she’d found it. “You brought it here?”

“Yeah. I did.” His reasons remained valid, but it was time. “Give it to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s going to be watching your back. I’d feel better about it if he had the shield there, too.”

“Will that be all Mr. Stark?” She didn’t press him to explain or try to deconstruct his meaning. She accepted him at his word. A shiver raced up his spine.

“Yes it will, Ms. Romanoff. Be safe.”

“You too.”

Then she was gone again and he still had another hour of flight. 1941. Still young enough to think of herself as a kid, but 1941. The digging into the Red Room’s history meant looking back a lot further than he had.

“Friday, let’s start running some numbers…”


	22. I wouldn't stress about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and the Soldier struggle with their memories, and their feelings toward a certain red head assassin, particularly after Natasha announces her intentions to leave soon.

Being back with Steve was both familiar and strange. In moments, it was like they slid back into time as in one of the science fiction novels Bucky liked to read. All they were missing were the Howling Commandos. At others, he wasn’t sure which of them was more alien, and pretending to be someone they weren’t. Even harder to reconcile— how could he enjoy having his friend once more after decades and yet in the same moments, refuse to give into the cruel illusion lest it be ripped away at a whim.

He focused on the other conundrum tangling his thoughts. The petite red head stood inches shorter than he, and far more slender and yet seemed to take up all the space when she walked into it. Even when he stepped off the Wakandan transport, groggy and disoriented, he found himself captivated by her.

She was a showstopper, a work of art, and all the moisture in Bucky’s mouth fled at the sight of her. No hesitation marked her movements, and there was no coy look hidden behind her lashes. Those deep green eyes held a frankness he couldn’t help but admire, but no blush stained her cheeks when he smiled and no shyness struck her when he flirted. Even raunchier flirts and directness that made the French girls blush during the war—wait, had their been one? Fleeting images danced just out of reach.

Everything about the red head held a purpose. She’d been gorgeous at breakfast, damp hair and smooth skin, fresh from a shower and wrapped in a oversized hoodie that did nothing to hide her figure. She’d become so much more in the gym. Watching her take on Steve, and actually climbing and dropping him. Compared to Natasha, Steve was a giant and suddenly all the power housed in her body seemed to be magnified. Bucky couldn’t look away, and didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Then she fought Clint. It didn’t have the poetry of her battle with Steve, nor half the speed. Her lightning reflexes seemed repurposed, and she stalked the other man like a predator, dangerous, lithe, and compelling.

Bucky wanted. The wanting hit him like a truck, pushing all the air out of him. Before he’d even known what he was doing, he’d been in the ring facing her. Everything else bled away, his whole focus latched onto her and the rising need to test his skill against such a worthy opponent. An excuse to touch her, and see if she were as warm and soft as she looked.

When she refused, a possessiveness threaded through him—a hot demand she obey. He’d rushed toward her, intent on eliciting a reaction only to halt when his gaze fastened on a silvery scar on her shoulder.

D.C. filtered through his mind.

The bridge.

Landing on the car.

Seizing the man through the backdoor window and flinging him away. His balance locked down.

The woman was in the other seat. He fired into the car through the roof.

The vehicle slammed on the brakes and he tumbled.

Rising, his gaze locked with hers in the window.

Wide. Green. Endless. The wonder of missing his target, but pride as well. And then the rush of the chase. Drive the other—Steve, though he lacked the crucial detail then—away from her. The woman was his, he told the men with him. Who were the men? A detail his brain didn’t care to process.

The bullet had destroyed his goggles. A warning shot. Pain thrummed with his pulse. Pain could be managed.

Pain could be ignored.

The pursuit.

Her voice. There she was, behind the car. Calling for assistance.

He rolled the small explosive. Already tracking the shot he’d take when it drove her from cover.

But the explosion came and she didn’t.

Lowering the weapon, he barely had time to process it when she was there. Thighs wrapping around him and a garrote he barely got his hand up to block. Each image flickered across his mind’s eye in rapid succession from when he threw her into a car, to the jolt of electricity nearly incapacitating his left arm and setting another wave of fire through his system to join the dull thud in his brain.

She ran.

He lined up the shot.

The shock of red hair clean in his sight.

The world slowed.

Between the breaths, he altered his aim a fraction.

Through the shoulder.

As she dropped he moved to intercept, and he could see her looking back at him.

Those fathomless green eyes fierce, and in pain but without fear.

His finger hesitated on the trigger.

He hesitated…

“Buck!” Steve’s voice penetrated the memory and he jerked his attention off Natasha to meet the concern in Steve’s eyes.

The sizzle of the food on the stove, the quiet music playing somewhere, and the sound of a glass being set down trickled over him. They weren’t in the gym or the room he’d been assigned, they were in the kitchen again. It had grown darker outside. The snow blew, the wind whipping around the chalet, the sheer force of it reducing visibility beyond the windows long before what light had remained disappeared with the early sunset.

“What?” Bucky stole another look at Natasha. She sat cross-legged on a counter, back to a wall with a laptop balanced in the cradle of her legs. The tumble of her red hair had been pulled up into a loose ponytail, adding an air of softness the fuzzy white sweater and yoga pants created. The woman in question raised an eyebrow in response to his inquiry, then nodded toward Steve.

Oh. Shaking his head to clear away the lingering images, he fixed a look at Steve and repeated, “What?”

“I asked if you were hungry. Food’s almost ready, and you haven’t worked on your cognitive tests.” The data pad lay next to his hand, untouched. He’d brought it down when he followed Steve to the kitchen. Then Natasha had been there and he’d all but forgotten the device. A sigh pulled Bucky’s wandering gaze back to Steve. Tightness in his jaw and the corners of his mouth turned downward, his friend wasn’t happy with him. Unfortunately, it seemed to be how their day had gone. Good moments and bad.

Baked potatoes in the oven, steaks slow grilling on the stove, and greens of some kind—Bucky couldn’t quite identify filled the kitchen area with an inviting aroma. “I could eat.”

Steve still gave him that look and Bucky spread his hands, not quite sure what Steve wanted him to say. Yes, the red head fascinated him, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. After she left the gym earlier, Steve had waxed back and forth between solicitous and demanding. They’d both worked out for a couple of hours, Bucky’s strength and stamina were returning at an appreciable rate.

After a light lunch—where he didn’t see Natasha—he’d gone upstairs to shower, and took a “nap” which was more of an excuse to get Steve to leave him alone so he could figure out what was it about Natasha he couldn’t shake. Steve also didn’t want him sleeping in the closet, but Bucky wasn’t comfortable with all the cameras in the bedroom and the AI had stated emphatically, she would not turn them off.

The nap only bought him so much time, but at least he’d slept. Shuri had told him to sleep. Some of her advice trickled in the more time passed. He’d been out of cryo for just under forty-eight hours. During his time waking, Shuri had spoken a mile a minute, and the concepts flitted past too quickly for him to grasp—then.

But her words came back with each passing hour. Sleep. He needed real sleep, it would help his mind adapt. The mental recalibration involved something with scar tissue. Neural pathways needed to reconnect. It would take time, but the mind would reroute as necessary. His serum and enhanced healing would play a part.

Why else had Hydra had to wipe him over and over?

He kept breaking the conditioning.

His gaze tracked back to Natasha. Her fingers flew over the keys on her keyboard, all of her attention seemingly on the screen. But to believe she was unaware of her surroundings would be a mistake.

And he still couldn’t figure out how he’d recognized her voice in D.C. He wanted to ask, but Steve was present and now Barton. He’d rather have the conversation in private. Maybe if it had just been Steve—his best friend, and total stranger. The latter told him he would have avoided the questioning even if Barton had been absent.

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve said the words low, and quiet but with a hint of plea and Bucky tore his attention away from the red head. Steve said it with the same hint of exasperation as he had during the fight in his apartment building in Bucharest.

Steve really liked her. And he didn’t want Bucky focusing on her. It seemed to be the only source of contention between them. A source resurrected when Steve returned the data pad to him with a hard look and asked about how he’d gotten out of his room and over to Nat’s.

Honestly, Bucky still had no idea what he’d been talking about.

“You know,” Bucky said slowly. “The guy wouldn’t have died.”

He had both Steve and Natasha’s attention.

“In Bucharest,” he told Steve. Seated on one of the stools at the counter table, he had a good view of the full kitchen, the foyer, and the windows. The only thing behind him was a wall. He preferred it that way. “You said come on then too…it reminded me of the fight in the stairwell.”

Realization filled Steve’s eyes, and his expression was a cross between exasperation and delight. Yeah, Steve liked it when he recalled things. Probably not all the things he remembered would make his friend that happy.

“You mean the guy I caught?” His dry tone suggested he didn’t believe him.

“Yep,” Bucky popped the p on the end of the word, then grinned. Easiness flashed through him. Steve could be such a stubborn punk. Once he decided on something, he’d dig in his heels and refuse to give in, even if someone beat him bloody. Used to terrify Bucky, especially on the days Bucky hadn’t gotten there in time. “You said I was going to kill someone. I told you I wasn’t.”

“Then you tossed that guy over the railing.” Nope, Steve definitely didn’t believe him.

“Three story drop like that, full tactical gear. He’d have broken his legs, but his internal organs would have been fine. Plenty of back up to get him medical care.” Spreading the fingers on his left hand, he grinned unrepentantly. Killing was definitely part of his skillset. The names—they’d come—a lot of them. His journals…his smile faded. He needed to find his journals, he’d written stuff down in case it slipped his mind again.

“That’s not okay…” Steve said, but the throaty sound of Natasha’s chuckle pulled both their attention.

“He’s not wrong, a three story drop on his head might have killed someone. Legs mend, Cap.”

Pride flooded Bucky, and the most incongruous of things, pleasure. She’d agreed with him, and his smile spread again. Steve scowled at her, but there was no heat in it. “That’s not the point, Nat.”

“No, it is the point,” she argued, seemingly content to continue working on her laptop. Like a cat, curled up on the counter with an empty cup of what had contained tea next to her. “The special forces coming to get him had orders to kill. They weren’t planning on trying to capture him. Capturing the Winter Soldier is a fool’s errand.” Bucky tried not to flinch at the matter-of-factness of her tone, even as another fist of pride warmed in his chest. “Maiming them wasn’t killing them, and he probably would have found the exit strategy a lot easier with a few well placed bullets.”

“Maybe,” Bucky threw in, the details of the fight replaying in his head. Some memories were ephemeral, ghostly wisps slipping through his fingers before he could even taste them. Tactics, though, didn’t need perfect recall. All he needed was the situation. “I told Steve their shoot to kill was good strategy. They shouldn’t have let me know they were coming.”

“Pretty sure I was the one who let you know they were coming.” Steve turned the steaks over and the scent of seared meat made Bucky’s stomach rumble. He would have to be circumspect about how much he ate. After D.C., it had taken him a while to adjust to solid foods. It didn’t seem as bad this time, he’d eaten well enough during his time in Bucharest. But he’d rather avoid a repeat of the more unpleasant side effects those first few meals earned him.

“You always have to pick a fight, Stevie,” Bucky grinned and leaned back in the seat so he could keep Natasha in his line of sight even while he focused on Steve. The mixed feelings he experienced concerning her left him unsettled.

“Not picking a fight, just stating facts.” The super soldier gave up all pretense of containing his exasperation.

“Sounds like a fight to me,” Natasha hummed. “But given the odds, a fight in a stairwell, potential civilian casualties, and a trigger happy special forces, I think disabling as many as swiftly as possible was the only alternative to shooting them.”

“You do realize you told me that was what worse looked like, right?” Steve turned that glare in her direction, but she barely seemed fazed if she noticed at all.

“That would be the part where you and T’Challa were chasing him through the streets, hijacking cars, caused multiple vehicular accidents and wounding more than a few civilians. That was definitely worse considering why they wanted to leash us in the first place.” Her expression didn’t shift from the placid as she met Steve’s gaze. “There were no civilian injuries in the apartment building.”

“Nat!”

Ignoring Steve, Natasha suddenly bestowed all of that considerable focus on Bucky, and he straightened in the chair. The Soldier lifted his chin, his eyes unflinching as she stared at him. “Tell me, what was your extraction plan?”

Responding compromised nothing. The apartment was gone. The exit strategy no longer relevant, though it had been incomplete. “Go bag under the floor boards to avoid discovery by a search.” He’d sealed the floorboard, aware that loose ones would be too alluring for dedicated agents tearing his place apart. Hydra possessed such agents. “Secondary go bag at the bus terminal, three blocks away. Multiple exit strategies based on type of containment unit. Exit to neighboring roof. Drop to street level. One block over, sewer access. Miles of tunnels through old runoffs, three points of egress from city center.”

The corners of her mouth curved. “Not bad.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, you two aren’t allowed to plan anything.” He returned to the stove.

“I thought you wanted me to work on getting along with your friends.” Bucky couldn’t resist teasing Steve. That at least felt familiar in a jumbled world.

After pulling the steaks and serving them onto plates along with the grilled vegetables, Steve opened the oven and pulled out the baked potatoes. A creak of a floorboard pulled Bucky’s focus and the Soldier dropped his hand to where the blade had been secured behind his belt.

“It’s Clint,” Natasha’s voice jolted him out of hyperaware mode and Bucky sighed. He didn’t move his hand from the blade until the archer appeared, red cheeked, hair wet, and rubbing his hands together.

“Quinjet is secure and the snow’s piling up out there. Isn’t it too early for a storm like this?” He must have shed his cold weather gear before coming into the kitchen.

“We’re in the Alps, idiot. This is fall weather.” Ignoring the middle finger the archer shot her, Natasha slid off the counter. She set her laptop aside before helping Steve carry the plates over to the island. The four of them had drinks, silverware, and food.

Bucky had watched the whole process of food preparation and cooking, and the Soldier still waited for the others to take bites. Clint had taken the seat nearest him while Natasha remained across the counter next to Steve.

“Not hungry?” A pair of blue eyes fixed on him, concern having supplanted his earlier exasperation. Steve worried. A lot. It used to be Bucky’s job to worry, now it seemed their roles had reversed.

“Taking my time.” The deflection wasn’t a lie. He was. The Soldier made careful note of Natasha’s neat cuts of the meat, sparing bites of the potato and quick devouring of the grilled veggies. “It smells great though,” Bucky grinned and dug into the steak willingly along with the veggies. The potato could wait. The first bite was better than anything he remembered. When was the last time he’d had steak?

Neither Bucky nor the Soldier could recall.

Better to eat it slowly. His stomach might reject the meal, no matter how it tasted.

Disquiet hovered around Steve after the admission. As happy as he was to see Steve, he needed him to stop acting like Bucky was going to evaporate on him.

“Thanks for cooking, Cap,” Clint said into the silence. “You know if you need a fall back profession, you might have found it.”

It was the right thing to say and served as a good distraction.

“Captain Chef,” Natasha— _Natalia_ —smirked. “Chef America. Captain Sous-merica.”

Though he shook his head, Steve still looked pleased. “I think I’ll stick to cooking for my friends.”

“Well Clint volunteers to do the washing up,” Natasha announced as she pushed her plate away. She’d only eaten about half of the large steak and less than a third of the potato. Steve who’d had two steaks had already demolished most of his food, and much to Bucky’s surprise; he’d already eaten most of his save for the potato. Even Clint had devoured his food.

“No Clint doesn’t,” the other man argued and stuck out his fist. Natasha matched him and they shook their fists—one, two, three and Nat’s hand went flat while Clint’s stayed a fisted. “Dammit,” he scowled.

Throaty laughter filled the kitchen as Natasha strolled away to grab her laptop. “You should stop picking rock all the time.”

“I don’t pick it all the time,” Clint argued, but he’d grabbed his plate and Steve’s, then eyed Natasha’s. “Anyone want to finish it?”

“Save it in case she’s hungry later,” Bucky said, though the steak looked good. She’d eaten far less than all of them, and she’d sparred in addition to her long run earlier in the day.

“I’m with Buck, let’s save it for Nat.”

“I’m fine boys,” she drawled as she settled the laptop on the counter. Bucky wanted to lift it away from her so he could see what was so damn fascinating. “I’m probably going to be gone early tomorrow, so eat it if you’re hungry.”

Silence rolled through the kitchen at the announcement. Steve went rigid, and the knuckles of his right hand whitened. Barton—Clint—half-dropped the stacked dishes into the sink before he turned a flinty gaze in her direction.

The Soldier narrowed his eyes. Barton looked far from friendly, not that Natasha paid him any attention. She should know better than to leave herself so exposed with potential danger surrounding her. A steak knife found its way into the Soldier’s metal hand as all his senses went on alert.

“Nat…” Steve took the plunge first. “We talked about this.”

“Yes, we did.” When she glanced up, her entire expression had been schooled into cool, yet professional with no trace of emotion. Natalia had mastered the art of only allowing others to see what she wanted. “I’m already days behind where I should be, and there’s already a chance they’ve closed up shop and moved. I can only hope some of their operations are too large to move…which isn’t as comforting as it sounds.”

“Then taking a little more time isn’t going to change the outcome,” Steve continued. “We can go with you, but I’d rather give Buck another couple of days. Shuri might even be in contact soon and he can go back to Wakanda.”

Wait. What? “Ready to be rid of me already?” Bucky ran his thumb along the handle of the knife. The Soldier dismissed the concern. He saw no value in returning to cryo. As much as Bucky had put himself under the last time, something in his chest went tight at the idea of repeating the experience.

“No,” Steve said, his exasperation roughing the edge of the words. “But you’re still recovering, and all the reasons you had for going under the first time…they still exist. Where Nat is going…”

He didn’t finish the statement. He didn’t have to. Steve didn’t think Bucky could handle it.

“Yes, where Nat is going, not you. And not you.” She pointed from him to Steve, and finally to Barton. “And not you—and before you come at me, I need you to get eyes on the operations in Prague, Budapest, and Azzano.”

Azzano sent a shudder through Bucky, but Prague tingled something in the back of the Soldier’s mind. A room. Dark walls. Dark furniture. A warm mattress. Rain. Chill. Freedom—all too brief—but a few precious hours of freedom.

“And leave Russia to you?” Barton’s dislike of the idea slicked cold over his tone.

“You’re not exactly popular with the current government,” Steve ventured. “All the more reason you need backup.”

Did they really think telling her what to do would work? The Soldier puzzled over the motivations. Natalia built plans based on resources, goals, and terrain. Resourceful, cunning, and deliberate in her attention to details—she rarely walked in anywhere blind and could build an exit strategy on the way in if necessary, adapting her plans to changing situations. Bucky wasn’t entirely certain where the confidence he had in her came from, but he glanced from her to Steve and then back again.

She waved a hand. “You forget this is hardly the first time someone somewhere has wanted me. I’ve been hunted by the best, trust me when I say they aren’t. And yes, I need to go to Arkhangelsk…”

“No,” the Soldier ordered as he stood. The steak knife slammed down onto the counter. The marble had cracked earlier in the day when he’d gripped it. A fresh crack splintered out from under his metal hand. “Arkhangel'sk opasen. Slishkom mnogo glaz i ushey.” The town dangerous, useful for the remote training facilities but no one could be trusted. Civilians could be guards or observers. Not every nightmare that happened there was documented.

“English,” Steve argued, his wary gaze tracking between them. “And whatever that place is, he doesn’t want you going either. Nat, a couple of days isn’t going to change much and with the storm out there, you’d be delayed getting out anyway.”

Storms were an inconvenience. The Soldier had traveled through worse, as had the Widow. “Vy znayete rabotu, kotoruyu oni sdelali tam. Eto slishkom mnogo shansov.” If he knew Arkhangelsk, then the Widow did as well. Training missions. Death. Ice in the veins. Screams. It was too much of a risk.

Suddenly the Soldier understood her reluctance to bring Steve or Barton with her. They could not comprehend the risks.

“English,” Steve repeated and glared at him, but the Soldier ignored it as Barton folded his arms. The other man hadn’t taken his gaze off her once.

“No,” was all he said. “We do it together or you don’t go at all. This isn’t an argument Tasha. People want you dead. Russia is a nesting doll of hells for you. You want to check out Prague and Budapest. Fine, we’ll leave first thing in the morning. The quinjet can get out. After Azzano, we check in with Steve and Barnes, see where they are at.”

“Clint…you’re not going to stop me.” Less a quiet threat, and more a promise. “They took people, some of them were kids. We know they are working on genetics. I don’t care if it’s Ross’s backyard, I’m going…”

“Dammit, Nat. If I have to hogtie you, I will. It won’t be fun for either of us, but I’m not letting you get killed because you think you owe the world something.” The argument was an old one, and Barton wavered, despite his stern assertion otherwise. He wavered because he did not want to fight with her.

The Soldier did not mind the fight.

“And if he won’t,” Steve said firmly, arms folding as he locked his legs. He was digging his heels in. Steve Rogers mastered the art of bullheaded punk long before he became Captain America. “I will. We just got you back. I’m not leaving you behind or letting you rush out into danger again.”

When had he… memory swallowed Bucky. Oh. The flight from the airport. She’d taken on T’Challa, and they’d left. They had to get to Siberia, to face the other Winter Soldiers, prevent their release. But Steve had left her behind to face a man, who may have become an ally later, but they had no way of knowing it at the time. T’Challa had gone toe to toe with the Soldier and with Bucky. Strong—definitely stronger than her—formidable in his armaments.

They could have been leaving her to die. The Soldier hadn’t worried.

His Natalia was a survivor.

“But she survived that fine,” Bucky said, earning a redirection for all the ire in the room. “She’s survived me—the Soldier twice. I think we do what the lady wants.” Which was at total odds with the Soldier’s desire to keep her away from Arkangelsk. No matter how capable, some nightmares should not be revisited. “Might even go better if we split up, each take one of the cities…” Not Azzano. He would not return there. “I can take Prague, Steve can go to Budapest, and Barton to Azzano.” Better, it was like a map unfolded and the Soldier agreed with him so far. “Natasha can do recon on Arkangelsk, but wait for the three of us to move in.”

“Not a bad plan,” Barton said slowly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“No way in hell,” Steve disagreed entirely. “You’re not going on a mission, Buck. You just got out of cryo, you can’t even sleep in a bed yet and you want to go after some unnamed group that may or may not be well armed, and may or may not have access to dangerous technology?”

Apparently aliens would be easier to believe that Bucky’s capabilities. The Soldier, however, took offense. “You’ve lost more fights against me than you’ve won Punk. I need another night of sleep according to Shuri, and it will take time to get all of us into place. I could do recon in my sleep.” The Soldier didn’t smirk. It wasn’t a point of pride.

It was fact.

“I’m not willing to risk you,” Steve argued, gritting out the words through clenched. “This isn’t a choice you get to make…”

Bucky didn’t hear the rest of his sentence or any words. It was like white noise blotted it out. Then there was a hand on his chest. A small one, delicately shaped and yet infinitely strong. A pair of green eyes sharpened into focus, and a tumble of unforgettable red hair. Her lips moved and he canted his head slightly and her voice whispered through the din.

“Stoyat vniz, soldat.” She’d said it before. She’d been repeating the phrase. Stand down, Soldier. The Soldier glanced beyond her. Rogers leaned against the wall, his nose bloodied and Barton had a gun pointed at the Soldier. Even with Nat between them, Barton had a clear sight to a head shot. It would be clean. Effective. Natalia would be safe.

Again she repeated the phrase and he glanced at her. The Soldier relaxed and Bucky let out a shuddering breath before he retreated away from the contact of her hand on his chest. The shirt was too thin and her flesh scorched him. He stole a look at Steve, then rubbed a hand against his head. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, straightening. He looked more startled than hurt, even with the blood trickling from his nose. “I should apologize…you—you get a choice Buck. I want to protect you, but I don’t get to take away your choices.”

The argument stalked out of the corner of his mind where the white noise shuttled it prompting the Soldier to react to the threat. “Still not a reason to snap.” Bucky had fought in a war, served with men under stress, and understood the desire to control his own destiny. He might still be picking up the pieces of his past, but some of them—like Azzano—stood out in stark clarity. He’d done what he could to keep up their spirits, even when he’d gotten sick—even when they’d taken him away and pumped poison into his veins.

He made the choice to stay collected for his men when he hadn’t been allowed any others. The Soldier had made choices, too. His finger had hesitated on the trigger when he had a clear shot to Natasha’s beautiful green eyes. And they could have both chosen to not hit Steve.

They had to do better.

Natasha backed away a pace and it was only then that Buck realized Clint still had a gun drawn on him. Hands lifted with his palms forward, Bucky met the archer’s gaze but the Soldier studied him in turn. A wordless pulse of respect. The archer wasn’t swayed by friendship or history, if the Soldier became a threat, then the archer would take him out.

It was an acceptable promise.

He nodded to Clint once, a nod Clint acknowledged with a dip of his chin before he lowered the weapon. The archer cut his gaze to Natasha once, then back to Bucky. The gun had been drawn to protect her because she’d come right up to him even after he assaulted the captain.

“I hurt her before,” he told Clint, acknowledging it.

“You did.” Clint nodded. “You don’t get to do it again.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Bucky promised, then he glanced to where she’d retreated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she told him, and a small piece of him let out a relieved sigh. She believed him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her to, until then.

“We all right?” Steve asked, blotting away the blood on his nose and Bucky nodded. Embarrassment curved through him.

“Yeah,” he told Steve, then offered him a hand. “We’re good.” Were they, though? The hint of relaxation over the meal had given way to irritation with Natasha, and both Clint and Steve had been dead set against her plans. Then Bucky…whatever. Had they forgotten the conversation? Though he kind of wanted to know, he didn’t want to bring it back up.

Natasha returned to her laptop while Clint resumed washing the dishes. Steve stood, his expression torn as he focused on the red head, then on Bucky.

The guy didn’t want to have to choose, so Bucky took it out of his hands. “I think I’m going to turn in. I’m beat.” He didn’t wait to see if anyone else wanted to chime in as he turned on his heel and left the room.

“You sure?” Steve caught up to him at the staircase.

“Yeah,” he told him. “You want to talk to Nata—Natasha. My head’s…aching I guess is the best word.” It wasn’t all a front, he could almost feel the slur in his words trying to take hold. “Go let her talk you into her plan.” He made it a couple of steps up before Steve responded.

“What makes you think it won’t be the other way around?” Trust the punk to get his back up.

Bucky grinned slowly and glanced at Steve. “Cause you might be stubborn as hell, but that lady is something else…and you already know it.” Despite his smile, something unfriendly surfaced in his gut at the idea of the pair. Something he didn’t want to look at, not so soon after striking Steve blindly. “Besides, I think you’d argue with her for fun.”

A tinge of red flushed Steve’s cheeks, and Bucky chuckled.

“Want some advice?” What the hell, right? Steve was his oldest friend, and he’d been in Buck’s corner since forever and he hadn’t given up on him, even when Bucky tried to kill him.

“Always. You know except about how to get Mrs. Torrano to give up her spaghetti recipe.” The odd remark through Bucky, and he had to think about it.

Mrs. Torrano… “First floor of the ratty deathtrap we lived in after…” After Steve’s mother died. Bucky moved out of his parents’ place cause he couldn’t convince Steve to move in—to accept charity, his words, not Bucky’s. The deathtrap had been a compromise. “I told you she was sweet on you, and a kiss would probably earn you more than the recipe.”

The heat was high in Steve’s face now and Bucky shook his head.

“I wasn’t wrong about that.”

“I know you weren’t, but I could have still lived without the advice.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, your advice about Nat?”

“Don’t take away her choices, either.” He’d planned to make a crack about not settling the argument with a sparring match. Based on what he’d seen earlier, she’d hand him his ass and walk away with a jaunt in her step. “It sounds like this is real important to her. Find a way to help, sure. I’ll help too, like I said. But don’t tell her what she can’t do.”

She’d had enough of that in her life. Far too much. Far too often. Bucky didn’t know where the certainty of that knowledge came from, but he believed it.

Steve sobered, then nodded his head slowly. “Okay. I’m sorry about what I said earlier…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky told him, waving it off. “Go fix things with the dame, and I’ll sleep. Maybe everything will look better in the morning.” Then he continued up the stairs. His hearing was sharp enough though that he didn’t miss Steve’s sigh or his quietly muttered, “maybe.”

Upstairs, he roamed into his room and dragged open the closet door. With a glance at the ceiling camera mounts he said, “What happens if I try to leave?”

“I will report the activity to Mr. Stark and notify Ms. Romanoff,” the crisp voice responded.

“Not Steve?”

A pause met his words, then the voice with the Irish lilt said, “Mr. Stark left Ms. Romanoff in charge here. She would be notified. She may in turn tell me to notify Captain Rogers.”

Or she might not. If he wanted to leave, he’d had opportunities. The doors weren’t locked. He’d memorized the layout. The storm was the most challenging obstacle, and even then—they had the gear here. He could make the hike. Uncomfortable, possible risk of frostbite—his metabolism could compensate.

If he could do it, then Natasha could as well. But he wasn’t certain if her metabolism was enhanced. He wasn’t fooled by her seeming fragility; he’d felt the power in her strikes first hand. Moments flickered past him as he carded through memories, some familiar and some—strange and distant. The strength of her thighs locked around his shoulders. The force applied to the garrote, a second slower and she’d have taken his jugular. An image of his exit from the Berlin facility, rapid strikes—a one two nut-punch that had actually slowed the soldier and made his groin ache at the memory, then a series of blows.

_“You could at least recognize me.”_

Bucky frowned. Recognize her? She definitely reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on who. Would she want him to recognize her as a target?

No…that hadn’t been what she—

“Sergeant Barnes?” The Irish voice reminded him he hadn’t moved.

“Yes—Friday is your designation, right?”

“Friday is my name, yes.” Well at least he’d gotten that right. “Did you require anything else, Sergeant Barnes?”

“No.” He didn’t think she’d help him with anything. Her loyalty was to keeping him contained. And if he asked her to tell him if Natasha left sometime in the night, she would likely verify it with Natasha first. It was still early, and Natasha wouldn’t be able to leave until Steve and Barton had slept. Better to leave in stealth, than battle.

Leaving his boots on, Bucky stretched out on the floor, with the pillow beneath his head. The Soldier could doze, maintaining his awareness. He would listen for Steve to come up. Then he’d shift locations. Natasha could leave from the balcony off her room, it was similar to the one off his and Steve’s. But the storm would make the descent more precarious, depending on the depth of the snow. A leap could earn a twisted ankle, and slow her later progress. More likely she’d go through the doors, since Friday wouldn’t send up an alarm.

Folding his hands together, he let himself drift a bit. Then his eyes snapped open, how did he know the layout of Natasha’s room?


	23. I'm always picking up after you boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Prague, Natasha makes contact with an old "friend" and comes to the icy realization her past is closer than it would appear. Also, she shares a secret or three with the guys. 
> 
> Some violence takes place.

Chapter Twenty-Three

_I’m always picking up after you boys_

Natasha

 

 

Two days. It took two days before she could make good on her plans to get out of the chalet. By the end of their third day, she’d been ready to strangle all of them and not in any particular order. The strain of close quarters wore on all of them. Though Clint might have been less on her shit list than he was on her aggravatingly annoying list.

Not since he’d first brought her in, had he been so overprotective. Then it had been an odd source of security, a constant in a sea of uncertainty. Despite agreeing to let him bring her in, she hadn’t been convinced SHIELD would go for it. She began and ended every day of her first six months under their auspices waiting for them to kill her.

Clint brought her _The Princess Bride_ to watch one week into her incarceration when the only time she’d been out of her cell was to meet with more specialists assessing her and more medical tests. She’d loathed the medical tests, but Clint managed to be present for all of it and seemed to understand it. He dragged in an old television on a rolling cart, brought popcorn, candy, and soda—they wouldn’t allow her alcohol—then settled on the hard cot next to her as they watched the film.

A ridiculous movie, but a line from it played on repeating loop in her head, “Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.” So much so, any time Clint told her good night and added good work or sleep well, she would murmur, “you’ll most likely have to kill me in the morning.”

He hadn’t found it funny, but standing in a club in the heart of Prague watching the dancers twist and writhe to the tech disco, that memory trotted out to flop on her mental sofa like a couch potato with no intention of leaving. _Good work, Natasha. Sleep well. You’ll most likely be dead in the morning._

“Comm check,” Cap’s voice reverberated in her ear. He was on an upper level of the club. He and Barnes wore the photo static veils. Their size would attract attention, even if Barnes could blend into the shadows—Cap would never be that good.

“Comm check five minutes ago, Steve. Get a drink. Relax.” Barnes had relaxed considerably. He’d woken on his second day, brighter eyed, and more focused. His laconic manner and good humor buoyed Steve, particularly when Natasha told Barnes she wouldn’t spar with him. Instead, she worked on her contacts, reached out to Isaiah, spoke to Laura, and waited out Steve and Barnes’ workout time before she descended to the gym.

“Yeah Cap,” Clint chuckled, lifting a drink to hide the movement of his mouth. “We’re just hanging out.”

The fact they’d all insisted on traveling together irked her, and yet, it said something about how far she’d fallen that she liked being able to trust the people at her back—even if some of those people were much better at kicking in doors than holding up walls while she waited out her contact.

It was almost nine, and she’d arrived early deliberately. Having already danced enough to generate some sweat, she’d retreated to the second level railing to people watch.

“Nat?” Cap nudged her verbally.

“Hard to miss you boys if you won’t shut up,” she told him cheerfully. “Relax. We have time.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Awareness of someone watching her glided over her skin, but she didn’t change her relaxed posture. Cap and Barnes both looked ready to swallow their tongues when she’d walked out of the safe house bedroom wearing the dark green dress that was more straps than fabric. It hugged her torso, and left her back open save for a series of crisscrossing straps, the dip skimming the top of her ass. The skirt was what she loved on it, though. It had slits at the knees to give her freedom of motion, but the skirt was full enough she could strap blades to her thighs or a gun.

Fortunately, they’d managed to keep their opinions to themselves. Movement flickered at the corner of her eye, and she caught the hand dropping onto her hip before it touched her, turning the man’s thumb sideways, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

Dressed in dark jeans with a white button down open to reveal his whole chest and sporting spikey hair and a few too many pieces of shrapnel for body jewelry, her would be lothario grimaced at her grip. “

“Szuka Csak azt akartam mondani, hogy akarsz táncolni.” Pain discolored his voice as he called her a bitch. And sure all he wanted to do was ask her to dance.

“Ezután kérdezze meg, ne érintse meg,” she informed him to ask and not touch, giving his thumb a little more twist before she released him.

The guy fell back a step and rubbed his hand. He looked her up and down, and it didn’t take an expert to read the lust in his eyes. But apparently he hadn’t had enough to drink to push his luck, so he retreated and Natasha resumed her perusal of the crowd.

“Poor guy, I think he just pissed himself,” Clint laughed.

“Should have broken his hand,” was Barnes’ only response.

“Focus,” Cap snapped. “It’s nine, Nat.”

Not answering him, she drifted away from the railing and headed to the iron steps to make her way back to the dance floor. The club crowd had swelled since she arrived, and she drifted around the floor, as if captivated by the music but not quite ready to dance.

A woman melted through the dancing throng, and crooked a finger toward Natasha as though beckoning her into the dance. With almost a half a foot in height on her, the woman was a bombshell. She wore an off the shoulder mini dress that emphasized her figure and like Nat, very little room to hide weapons. But she would be a fool to trust appearances even as Natasha slid onto the floor and began to move with her.

Raising an eyebrow, Nat extended her arms upward and her partner needed no further invitation to begin sliding her hands over Natasha, beginning at her wrists. Her fingers circled Tony’s bracelet, but it didn’t react to her and didn’t move. The featherlight touch glided down her forearms, to her biceps, then shoulders. Natasha turned, dancing back to chest as her dance partner continued to move her fingers lightly, but thoroughly over her chest, sides and down to her hips.

“The hell Nat?” Cap’s worried voice punched in her ear.

“Leave it,” Clint said calmly. “That’s got to be the contact.”

Only after her partner slid a thigh between hers and tsked when she encountered the blades sheathed there, did Nat turn with a smile. She repeated the same moves on the taller woman, and tapped twice at the garrote handle on the dancer’s dress and then gave her breast a gentle squeeze, yes, she had noticed the knife tucked there.

With a huff of near noiseless laughter, the woman leaned forward to murmur against Natasha’s ear, “You’d have been insulted if I weren’t armed, Natalia.” To anyone else it would appear sensuous and then Natasha glided her hand down to tangle her fingers with her partner and tugged her from the dance floor.

“So would you, Tanya,” Nat said over her shoulder. They shared mutual smiles, a show of passionate teasing. If anything, they both knew how to use their appearances to deceive. Nearing the steps to the second level, Tatiana pulled Natasha to her and dipped her head as though she would kiss her. But Natasha stopped her with a finger to Tanya's lips. “Lovely thought, lose the lipstick and I’ll think about it.”

Tanya pouted and nipped Nat’s fingertip. “You never want to play.”

“I play when it’s appropriate.”

Another sigh and then they ascended the steps hand in hand, two playful lovers having an encounter in a dark club.

“Jesus,” Barnes exhaled. “That’s her contact? Are they going to keep feeling each other up?”

Nat didn’t roll her eyes, instead she and Tanya retreated to quieter booths, tucked away out of sight. The music would give them cover to talk and they knew multiple ways to communicate if they needed

“Focus,” Cap said, but he didn’t sound as certain.

Ignoring them, Natasha focused on Tatiana Venoslova, if that was the name Tanya went by these days. Somehow Nat doubted it.

“All right Natalia, I’m here. And you are far too hot for good company, so what do you want?” In the shadows of the booth, Tatiana’s expression lost all playfulness, the emotion falling away like water. At least her hair was dark these days, and Nat didn’t have to listen to the guys comment on her red hair being near to Nat’s own.

“No foreplay? Just straight to business?” Natasha teased, but it was also her preferred way of doing business.

“The foreplay was getting here,” Tanya told her bluntly, then glanced at her watch. “And in four and half minutes, I’m leaving. So if you want to talk, talk.”

Fine. Two could play the game. “You owe me,” she reminded her. A simple sentence. Three words. But even amongst the annals of missing memories, Tatiana remained a fixed point. An old, familiar memory and one marked by a lot of blood, betrayals, and bodies. It had been nearly two decades since the last time they’d seen each other, and Tatiana’s youth continued to fade. Then she had looked perhaps a decade older than Natasha. Now it was more like two. The lines around her eyes had deepened, and while cosmetics and low light did a lot to disguise it—time closed in on Tanya.

“Bitch, you would bring that up.” There was no heat in the words, only resignation. “Fine, what do you need?”

They didn’t need lists of who had done what to whom; their ledgers were very clear in the debts and payments columns. Tatiana owed Natasha far more than Nat was about to ask for, but she would clear the debt with it.

A last kindness for two girls who could never be friends.

“Facilities here in Prague, Budapest, Azzano, Moscow, Volgograd and Arkangelsk. Have you heard of them?” As she ticked off each one, Natasha watched for a flicker of an eyelash on Tanya's part.

“I’ve heard of a lot of things, Natalia. Some are worth knowing, some are better forgotten.” A warning, one Red Room survivor to another.

But unlike Tanya, Natasha would not flee that past. Not anymore. “Some can not and should never be forgotten.”

“What western idealistic fool notions have you gotten into your head? You were out, and you keep going under. Did you learn nothing last time?”

“Probably not,” Nat said with a careless shrug, refusing to let any of her real feelings out to play. The woman sitting across from her could as easily slit her throat as have her back, it all depended on the weather and the wages of their debts. “The facilities, Tanya. Tell me about them.” Because she’d not denied knowing anything.

“You do this—you…” Then Tanya leaned back, her lips compressed and she shook her head ending her argument without beginning it. “You’re a damn fool. The one here in Prague is nothing, a control station—a throwback to the old days. Think information peddling, away from where they do the real work.”

Natasha gave her a slow blink, waiting her out. A waitress skimmed by and delivered two drinks.

“They’re clean,” Clint assured her.

They waited for the waitress to leave, then Natasha lifted her glass and took a careful sniff before she sipped. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Clint, but only the dead trusted no one could get to them. Watered down gin—very watered down. The moisture was enough to wet her mouth.

Tatiana ignored her drink. “Azzano is a stepping stone, a way station. Nothing goes in or out that doesn’t pass through there.”

They could use that. If Azzano filtered people in and out for whatever experiments they were doing, she could slip in that way. The guys would never go for it, but if she inserted herself before they knew, they would have to wait until she was done.

Or they could take it down, strip it for data and move on. The problem with a chain, if the chain broke anywhere, they ran the risk of losing the rest.

“Budapest is a front a lure, a trap to bring in spiders from the cold.” The warning lurking in Tanya’s eyes said she may have triggered the trap. “It’s caught so many, but it really wants one…enough to bait a hook all across Europe.”

“Not the first, won’t be the last,” Natasha told her, waving off the concern. If they were good enough to finally catch her, they’d better kill her.

A sliver of a grin, Tatiana laughed. “They are still picking up the pieces from last time. But they keep the trap open. Hope is contagious even in the dark.” Finally, she leaned forward again, her gaze fixed on Natasha’s. “Moscow and Volgograd—old, tired story.”

“Children?” Her mouth goes dry, but her voice remains steady.

“Of course. Break them while they are young and malleable, find the ones with marble.”

Her stomach clenched, acid coating her throat but Natasha didn’t allow it to sway her. She’d been marble. She’d had to break the breakable ones.

So had Tanya.

“Then what I want is in Arkangelsk.” What her instincts had told her to begin with, and why she’d wanted to go there directly and let the others handle the other cities. Moscow and Volgograd had to be dealt with. No more children.

“Perhaps…if you are looking to finally end it. Time will catch up Natalia…sooner or later.” Tanya lifted a hand, the once smooth skin marked by a dozen crisscrossing silvery scars. “You don’t have to rush it. We did our service, why go back to hell?”

“You’re boredom is showing,” she warned the woman across from her. “If you didn’t already know the answer to the question, you wouldn’t be here.”

“You think too much of people,” she tsked and waved a finger at her. “Everyone disappoints, that is why we do not feel so we cannot be betrayed.”

“And you don’t think enough.” It was a tired and old argument. “You told them I would be here…in what an hour? Or less?” And a too familiar one.

“Eyes up,” Clint warned, though Barnes and Rogers didn’t say anything.

“It’s just business Natalia, nothing personal. I like my skin where it is and why take me when they can get you?” Then her smile erased and her eyes just looked tired. “I thought I was ready when they came, I thought—why not? I’ve lived long enough. Let’s just get it over with…but they don’t want death. They want you. If they can’t have you, they’ll make do with me, but they know it won’t work with me. I was in the fifth batch.”

Batches. Half of Tanya’s batch survived, but most of them went insane.

Arguably, all of them but Tanya’s crazy was a little more antisocial and less psychotic break.

“You were the special one, always so special. Now you offer me a way to clear my debt, but I have already betrayed you—which makes my column deeper red, and not less.” Tatiana pursed her lips, an unfriendly twist. “I do not like you very much at the moment, Natalia. If you’d come to kill me, then it would have been perfect. I would be free and you would be long gone before they got here.”

Such was the crisis of confidence for people like them.

“Nat, we should go,” Cap warned.

“What do you want, Tanya?” Natasha eased her glass aside.

Curling her hand into a fist, Tatiana propped her chin on it. “I want to go back to Stalingrad, and be adopted by some fat farmers to work with pigs and never have heard of Madame. I want to be able to sleep without handcuffs on my wrist. I want to have never met you or needed to know you.”

Fanciful wishes all, but Natasha didn’t disagree with her.

“Did you know I got to be American for a few years?” Her accent disappeared behind a curtain of Middle America. “Dottie Underwood, I was just so sweet and I was going to be an actress…” Then a shrug. “Go Natalia, I will deal with them when they come. I will empty this debt to you—you should not go to Arkangelsk, but you will, because you are you. You will keep fighting because you are marble. They have never broken you.”

Impulsiveness was not in her makeup, it had been long conditioned out of her and still Natasha reached across the table to take her hand. “Come with me—don’t wait for them here.”

“I’m tired, Natalia. Too tired for this and I am getting older. Every year I get weaker. We are not all indestructible as you…” She squeezed Natasha’s hand. “You know why we survived, don’t you?”

“Because we hated each other.” They’d never been friends. They’d barely been allies. “And because you couldn’t kill me.”

“You never tried to kill me,” Tanya mused.

“I never tried to kill anyone.” At first. “I only ever defended myself.”

“But you didn’t kill me when I went for you—the challenge.”

“They didn’t give the order.” She’d beaten Tanya, fair and square. Well, brutally and bloodily, but the girl had been three years ahead of her, and much larger. She went down like most of the opponents who thought Natasha’s size was their advantage.

“Pooh,” the other woman grunted. “That means less if they spared me instead of you.”

Natasha shrugged then released her hand. “Are you going to come?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Then she reached up to tug off her wig and red hair spilled out. “They are looking for a Widow. I shall give them one.” Then her grin turned feral. “Maybe I’ll take them instead.”

“Three large SUVs gliding in dark. Four men each. Heavily armed.” Barnes stated, his tone cool. “If we don’t want a fight on the way out, we need to go.”

“Go,” Clint said. “Nat, we’re moving. Meet us at the extraction point.”

She pushed a hand through her hair to let him know she’d heard. Fortunately neither Cap nor Barnes argued. Natasha would be better at leaving the club on her own.

Tanya slid her wig across to her, and Nat offered her a long blade. With a grin, Tanya tested the tip. “Uvidimsya v adu, da?” The wildness in her smile didn’t change. Yes, they probably would see each other in hell someday.

“Two minutes Nat, they’re gathering at the door and two just headed around back.” Dammit Clint had lingered.

“Proshchay Tat'yana.” Nat murmured her farewell as she pushed her hair under the wig, fitting it neatly to her skull. Tatiana gazed at her for a moment, then nodded before she slid out of the booth.

Nat lingered as the only other survivor of the Red Room prowled across the second floor to the stairs and put herself in the perfect position to observe and be observed. She moved like the predator she was, and it was fifty-fifty whether Tanya would go through with her plan to let them kill her.

But Natasha doubted she’d _let_ them do anything. Tanya warned her, yes she’d betrayed her, but she’d warned her and now she planned to intercept the trap that had been laid for her.

“Nat. Why the hell are you still in the club?” Clint’s voice went taut.

“I’m in position,” Barnes said quietly. I’ve got a line on the alley, and a partial on the street.

“C’mon Natasha.” So Steve hadn’t left either.

Maybe Tanya was right, maybe she had gone soft with her idealistic friends.

Men in suits entered the front doors and Natasha lifted her glass to sip as she took a good look.

“You know, Nat. You’ve had some crappy ideas but these guys aren’t worth the risk to get a look. They’re not going to be anyone you know…” Clint was still talking, but Natasha stopped listening the moment the blond pushed through the door. He wasn’t wearing a suit, if anything, he dressed more like the club dancers in tight pants, an armored vest and sporting bare arms despite the cold outside.

Tatiana stiffened, an almost imperceptible motion of her shoulders straightening. She hadn’t known he would be there. The men with him bled out into the club, but Alexei didn’t move—he’d already clocked Tatiana and the smile he wore held a cruel slash.

Leaving her booth, Natasha sauntered along the second level. The dark hair of the wig fell past her breasts, even as the bangs sheltered her features. Brushing against Tatiana’s back, she curled her fingers and tapped three times.

In combat training and sparring, they tapped once to concede a maneuver but not the fight. They tapped twice to concede the maneuver and the bout. Tap three times, however, was a code only among the girls. It meant give me a weapon, and get ready. A warning, an offer of alliance however temporary, and a boon. Because surviving was all that mattered.

“Fuck.” Clint cursed. “Stay on this channel, Nat. I have eyes on you.”

Tatiana slid a languid look up at her, and wrapped arm around her even as she pulled Natasha’s head down for a kiss. Her lips pressed right to Natasha’s ear, even as she pressed the blade Nat had slid her back into her palm. “You should have left me.”

Nuzzling Tatiana’s chin, Natasha glanced through her hair. Alexei Shostakov swept the club with his gaze, but returned to Tanya twice. But Alexei knew Natalia Romanova and he would not be fooled with such a significant height difference. “You should shut up, and get ready to move,” Nat warned. Then she pulled away with a laugh, flirty and sensual.

The other woman curled her fingers against the underside of Nat’s breast and she stroked her thumb as if contemplating all the pleasure she could bring, but her gaze went down and toward the rear. There were two at the back exit. Barnes was also covering it and Natasha happened to know he was an excellent shot.

Alexei moved, his path circling away from the stairs even as his men continued to work their way through the club. Leaning forward, Natasha nipped the corner of Tatiana’s mouth and said, “Two at the back. Wolf or lamb?”

With a wicked little laugh, Tatiana pinched the underside of her breast. Fuck that would leave a bruise, the pain wholly unnecessary to the plan. “Wolf…you’re a much better lamb.”

Ignoring the ache, she rubbed herself against Tanya’s side before Natasha began a sensuous descent, every move of her body designed to entice and beckon. She didn’t have to look behind her to know Tatiana followed, her prowl that of a woman in lust, determined to take.

The best way to avoid detection in places like a club were to be noticeable, but in ways other club goers expected a person to be. Getting sexually stimulated and seeking to get laid were definite yes’s in the expectation game. The darkness, pulsing music, and flashing lights along with copious amounts of alcohol numbed even the sharpest of eyes. When chasing prey, particularly prey you thought was unaware, you look for fast movements, out of place actions, or deliberately trying to be unnoticed.

Natasha turned on her heel, and pursed her lips at Tatiana. Tanya was almost right on top of her, and her gaze seemed wholly focused on stripping Natasha bare. Yes, they both knew how to play this game and the more playful and obscene they got, the less they interested Alexei and his men.

She had to trust Tanya to watch her back, and as she neared the bar to push open the backdoor, Tanya raised her brows, and Natasha nodded once. Tanya lunged forward, her lips colliding with Nat’s and they shoved out of the bar like two horny women desperate to get naked even if it was an alley. A pair of masculine voices broke off at the end of the alley, and Alexei’s suits took several steps forward. Probably as much turned on as they were investigating who left the bar.

Barnes bit off curse and harsh exhale told her he got an eyeful, particularly because Tanya shoved a hand up Natasha’s skirt. She freed the blade on Nat’s right thigh, and they slid apart as if they’d choreographed the motion even as the door to the club slammed shut.

Three steps and Natasha had the blade driving right up between the third and fourth ribs of the guy on the left. It buried right into his lung, and he stared, eyes wide and mouth open. Damaged lungs fill with blood fast. He couldn't shout, or cry out. Death came swiftly, if painfully. Relieving him of his weapon, she glanced over to Tanya. Her target lay twitching on the ground, the blade driven right through his throat and severing the carotid. An arc of blood sprayed over the dark stone.

“Messy,” Nat said, and took the ID off her target before wiping the blade on his suit and securing it back to her thigh.

“Effective,” Tatiana countered, mirroring Natasha’s movements, save for the blade. She tossed his ID to Nat, but kept his gun and tested the blade for balance. “I think I will keep this.” But at Natasha’s baleful look, she smirked and flipped it over to hand it to her hilt first. “So greedy.”

Then she strutted out of the alley, as unmoved by the cold on her bare skin as Natasha. Shaking her head, Nat turned away and went for the corner. Knife stowed in its sheath, she shoved the ID’s into the bodice of the dress. The tight fit held them in place. After making sure the safety was on, she balanced the gun in one hand and skimmed the wall up. Even in her heels, she could make the climb using uneven outcroppings of the bricks. She’d just made the roof, when Barnes reached down to grasp her free hand. One armed, he pulled her up and over and then he ducked her down as the door to the alley slammed open again.

She passed him the ID’s and he shoved them in his jacket without a word. He eyed the gun, but didn’t try to take it. Then he skimmed a look over her as she pressed against the brick. “You’re scary,” he told her.

“I know,” she murmured. They remained in place, quiet and listening. Alexei cursed below, his Russian hot and rapid fire as he told his men to tear the club apart. When he was alone, Natasha eased up ignoring Barnes tightening his arm warningly.

She glanced down to where Alexei stared at the dead bodies. He had a phone in his hand, but he wasn’t talking on it.

He texted something.

Irritated, she dropped down next to Barnes again only to be hauled against him, her back to his front and then he had his jacket partially wrapped around her. The heat off him helped with the chill seeping into her muscles as the adrenaline dropped off. She had a coat in the club, but the checkroom wasn’t an option.

They said nothing, no reason to risk their voices carrying. Just because they were out of line of sight didn’t mean people couldn’t hear them. Steve’s hearing was acute enough to hear that far away, Barnes’ might be able to as well. Natasha had sharp senses, but not that sharp. So she waited, tucked against Barnes like it was the most natural thing in the world and ignoring the familiarity of it.

She was so sick of not being able to put her finger on what was real or imagined. The situation involved far more than the ragged pieces of her memory. If nothing else, the two extra days they’d spent at the chalet had settled Barnes’, evening him out—and the Winter Soldier hadn’t come to see her again.

She was okay with that.

A shiver worked its way up her spine, and she tucked her head down. The wig, surprisingly, helped with keeping her warm, but her nose numbed, and her lips trembled even as she tried to keep them pressed tight.

“Status?” Barnes said, his voice muffled as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. The man was huge, like Steve, and being surrounded like this was great for staving off hypothermia, but left her in a vulnerable position she didn’t care for.

“They’re at the front again, and they have the bodies from the alley,” Clint said. I’m counting ten. So that’s everyone who went inside minus the mess.”

“Give them another minute,” Steve suggested. “I’d rather they were driving away when you two come down.”

“Two minutes tops,” Barnes said, his voice still low. “Natasha’s going to freeze to death up here.”

“Natasha is fine,” she said automatically. The guys didn’t need to worry. She’d grown up doing ops in worse weather and with far less provisions. At least she had a Winter Heater at her back. A laugh tried to work its way out, but she swallowed it. “Clint, can you tag one of those vehicles?”

“That’s a risk,” Clint said.

“Do it…the one with the blond guy and no coat.”

Silence greeted her statement and Barnes’ arm around her middle went tight.

“They’re in the cars, and starting to pull away,” Steve said. “You’re clear.”

“Vehicle tagged. Let’s go.”

She unfolded from her crouch as Barnes rose, carrying her with him. He didn’t let go, just shifted the rifle he had in his hand to his shoulder, and held out his hand for the gun. Once she handed it over, he slid it into one of the pockets inside the huge coat he wore, then glanced at her. “Hold on.”

Threading her arms under his coat and over his shoulders, she hitched her legs around his hips. Thankfully, the body armor he sported kept them from getting too close or this would get awkward real fast. He banded his right arm around her middle, and then ran. The wind cut at her, but she buried her face and ignored the freezing cold nipping between her shoulder blades.

When Barnes leapt, jumping from one roof to another. She wished like hell she could see it. While more fun than riding a Hulk’s back as he leapt falling debris to get to the steadily rising city, she hated leaving her fate to someone else. Thankfully, Barnes didn’t throw her off when he reached the last building. Instead, he set her down, and then glanced over the edge before shooting her a sideways glance.

Yeah, she’d rather climb. Her fingers were a little numb and she really couldn’t feel her back by the time she shimmied down the building. Barnes followed right behind her, landing only a half step after she did. Clint wrapped a coat around her shoulders and tugged her into the backseat with Steve driving and Barnes folding into the passenger seat.

It was gloriously warm inside the car, and they said nothing as Steve drove. They angled away from the city, the safe house they were using was outside of Prague and on the way toward the border. The quinjet was cloaked in a field nearby. Natasha stripped off the wig, the faint scents of the club and Tatiana lingering on the strands. She ran her fingers over the inside of the cap, and found no bugs but she still rolled the window down as they crossed over a bridge and threw it out to blow off the side and drift down to the water.

“So, debrief. Your contact was another Widow.”

She’d half thought Clint would wait until they were alone to ask, but it wasn’t a secret she needed to keep from the others in the car. The question in his tone, though, the doubt told her he wasn’t sure if it were true or why she wouldn’t have told him.

“Tatiana was never a Widow.” Her gaze fixed on the darkness of the vanishing city lights, but she saw the thin room with its long line of beds and the metal headboards with their handcuffs dangling from them. “She was at the Red Room. Three years ahead of me.” Then because she didn’t want to play twenty questions, she said, “She was handpicked for a different project, and pulled.”

“Do you know what the project was?” The weight of Steve’s gaze seemed to reflect back at her, but he didn’t look away from the road.

“An old one—a defunct one. Leviathan. It failed.” A black eye for the Red Room. Madame hadn’t been pleased.

“Fifth batch?” Steve pressed again. She could ignore the question, but like Tanya—there were some areas where she was simply tired.

“A variant on the super soldier serum—Erskine’s formula.” She’d thought they’d tried to hijack it like Zola, but apparently he’d worked with them. So what did she know really? “Applied to those deemed most worthy at the Red Room…Tanya’s batch killed over half of those it was given too, and drove the rest insane. Except for Tanya, but I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.”

She waited, aware of the sharp look Clint pinned on her. Fury knew, but he was in the wind. Coulson had known, but he was dead. Clint had known from the beginning, a vulnerability she’d shown him as a sign of faith. Stark had figured it out. Now she would tell Steve if he asked. Something about Tanya’s description of Arkangelsk stung in the back of her mind.

If she went there… _“Perhaps…if you are looking to finally end it. Time will catch up Natalia…sooner or later.”_ The idea didn’t seem as repulsive as it might have once. Not if she could end all of it at the same time. Even with the heat cocooning her, she couldn’t seem to shake the cold—the frigid sheath encasing her soul. If she had one.

Maybe she never had and the cold was the void where it should be.

Food for thought. A shudder worked its way up her spine and she dug her fingers into her palms. Physiological reaction, she reminded herself. Just a physiological reaction.

Finally, Steve blew out a harsh breath. Not a good sign. She imagined him white knuckling the steering wheel. Barnes’ profile revealed nothing of his thoughts—no surprise, no shock, no care.

“Do you have a variant of the formula?” Steve finally asked.

“Yes,” she told him and felt, more than heard Clint’s sigh. “Apparently an earlier one than you do.”

“Didn’t do anything for your height,” Barnes commented, his tone dry. “Look a damn sight prettier than Stevie. But no red face, right?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “No. I was fourteen when I received it. I never grew any taller. Didn’t get a red face, either.”

“Dammit Nat,” Steve sighed. “Every damn time…”

“Shut up, Rogers.” Clint said abruptly, his voice ice in the car. She put a hand over his to steady him, but Clint shook his head. “You don’t get to be pissed at her because she hasn’t told you everything. People have a right to their secrets. Hers had nothing to do with you.”

“You sure about that?” Steve challenged. “Because I’m not.”

“Steve…”

“No, dammit Bucky. No. Every time I turn around there’s another damn secret…”

“Keeping it a secret from you,” Natasha said slowly, unwilling to face a full on emotional battle in the middle of the dark vehicle on the road outside of Prague with the hell of her past nipping too close at her heels. “Would require that I make a choice of keeping something you needed to know from you. I did that on the Lemurian Star, when I followed Fury’s orders. Not telling you about the formula wasn’t about keeping something you needed to know from you, it was about protecting myself.”

“From me?” The quiet hurt in his voice slapped at her.

“From everyone. Steve you’re a terrible liar. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you are probably one of the most directly kind people I’ve ever met. You literally beat the Soldier with kindness.”

“And his fists,” Barnes supplied. “He used those, too.”

The corners of her mouth twitched at the very necessary moment of levity. Even Steve huffed out a laugh. The only one quiet was Clint, and he had slid his fingers between hers, taking hold of one of her hands. Support. Strength. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed, but she was here so they could fight about it later.

While she told herself she didn’t need him to buoy her, hadn’t in years. She didn’t loosen her grip.

“The point is…I didn’t understand what was done to me when it happened. Later, I…didn’t want any more experiments. No more being lashed to cold metal tables. No more poison in my veins. I don’t even like seeing a doctor for a gunshot wound.” All truths, and for a brief moment her gaze locked with Steve’s in the rear view mirror. “Everyone wants to be you, Steve. They’ve been hunting the secret for decades. Hydra sent the Soldier to kill the Starks for that formula they used to make more Winter Soldiers. Your blood, the remaining vials of it, were a hot commodity after the war if you go by the stories. Bruce turned into the other guy trying to recreate it. You came out of the ice and everyone wanted to know how you survived, to dissect every part of your biology that did that for you.”

They sent the Soldier to kill the Starks for the formula as well as send a message, she amended to herself silently. She still hadn’t figured out who needed to get the message, but she would.

Eventually.

Tony deserved more answers. But she couldn’t muddy the waters anymore than they already were. As loyal and fierce as Steve was, he also held onto this very firm belief in absolutes. The uneven shading populating her existence was not an easy place for him to inhabit.

“But the world isn’t going to take apart Captain America,” Clint finished for her, summing it up. “Everyone would fight it, they honor you too much. Even now…”

“Me?” Natasha shrugged. “I’m just a cold-blooded killer and a criminal. They’d dissect me in a heartbeat. So no, I kept my own secret. I killed the scientists who did this to me—the ones I could find. I destroyed any records. When I came to SHIELD, I told Clint. I told him when he asked me if there was anything else he needed to know.”

“I filled in Fury and Coulson, they ordered blind tests and when they had the proof—we buried it. No records. No one else was read in.”

Steve went quiet, and they were nearly to the safe house when he said, “That’s why Hydra didn’t go after you sooner.”

“I would guess,” she told him. “Not sure if it’s much comfort because I don’t know how tied to the Red Room Hydra was, but they seemed to have had their fingers in everything. So maybe they knew or maybe it was lost and they didn’t. Either way, they didn’t find out through SHIELD.”

Did he understand what she had trusted him with?

“So now it’s Clint, Fury, me, and Bucky who know?” Maybe he did.

“And Tony,” she added quietly, not reacting to the squeeze from Clint. No, she hadn’t told him this part. “Tony figured it out on his own. He also figured out the Erskine angle. I never knew Erskine ended up in Russia for a few years before he returned to Germany and then later to the U.S.”

Barnes slanted a look over his shoulder at her. The first time he’d glanced in her direction. A question hovered in his eyes, but he said nothing. The fact she could read him suggested he wanted to ask her, but not in front of others. She nodded once, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. Yes, she would talk to him later—whatever it was.

“Do you want to finish the debrief?” She asked after the quiet extended.

“Please,” Steve said, a tired note in his voice.

“You heard what Tanya said about the locations,” she continued, and it wasn’t a question. They’d been listening over her comms. “Arkangelsk has to be where the genetic work is being done and it makes sense… one of the first Red Rooms was there. Volgograd and Moscow facilities have children in them, we have to clean those out, but Arkangelsk needs to go down first. That’s where they will send those kids when they finish their training.” If they survived their training—she had, and a few others had. Almost none survived the next phase. Natasha remained an anomaly.

“I thought you burned the Red Rooms down.” No judgment lurked in Steve’s tone.

“Until tonight, so had I. And it can’t be who was running it before—I _know_ they are dead.” She’d shot Madame in each of her joints. One by one. Reminding her as she blew off her toes and her fingers, that pain was an illusion the mind could master.

The woman had died screaming and weeping in a room made red with her blood.

It had still left Natasha empty.

“But Alexei was with those men,” she admitted and gradually uncurled the fingers of her left hand. She’d left half-moon grooves dug into her flesh. The next part wasn’t pleasant. The next—she would rather have swallowed glass than admit. “The Red Room had a male counterpart program, an experimental one and Alexei was in that. The boys were too unstable, so most of it was scrapped, but he did well enough.” Psychotic. Cold. Impersonal. Controlling. He made her skin crawl. He and Leonid. Dangerous bastards. “He was designed to be Russia’s answer to you, Cap.” Then she laughed without any kind of real humor. “Their success was…less than ideal.”

“Does he know you?” Barnes asked, his head still slightly turned as though keeping her in his periphery.

“Unfortunately. Too well. That’s why the show to get out.” Alexei would have killed everyone in that club if he’d had to in order to get her. Of that she had no doubt. There was too much civilian collateral and he never gave a damn about it.

Fuck, why couldn’t people stay dead?

“So…” Steve said slowly as he parked outside the safe house. “Anything else we learned tonight?” Bless him he was trying to keep it light.

“She likes red heads,” Barnes said suddenly, a grin on his face. “Woman’s got good taste.”

Then because it was just the right side of absurd, Natasha laughed. One by one, the others joined her and if she swiped away a tear from her cheek, well maybe she laughed just that hard.


	24. You may wish you hadn't asked that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More revelations and another attack. Natasha wrestles with the collisions between past and present.

Chapter Twenty-Four

_You may wish you hadn’t asked that_

Natasha

 

 

“Nat,” Clint called from somewhere near the basement. “Why the hell did we buy this place again?”

Stripping out of the dress as swiftly as possible, Natasha ignored the bruised sensations tingling along her fingers and her feet. The shoes sucked, but they did their job. Climbing a wall while freezing, also effective, but she could live with the aches. All the places she’d bruised, scraped, or left hurting from the cold would heal in a few hours. None of the injuries were significant. Even if her side ached from where she’d gotten cut in Paris.

“Because the last time we were in Prague, you nearly bled out when I couldn’t secure a location for us,” she returned, stepping into clean panties, before pulling a heavy sweatshirt over her head sans bra. She just wasn’t in the mood—especially if they couldn’t get the damn heat on. Freeing up the thigh sheaths, she set them aside before shimmying into a pair of leggings.

“Right,” her longtime partner drawled. “Well, add replacing the furnace to the honey do list.”

Laughing, she shook her head before digging out a pair of socks from her bag. She sat on a rickety wooden chair, to put them on. “We might add torch it and rebuild it if you’re going to be picky.”

“Picky,” he announced, sticking his head around the wooden divider separating her corner from the rest of the one wide open room save for the bathroom in the other corner. “Picky is not the word I would use.” Then he tested the sturdiness of the divider. “Cap and Bucky went to gather some wood. We’re going to have to rough it the old fashioned way.”

With a sigh, she reached for her boots. “I’ll help. It’ll be faster if we’re all doing it.”

“Nope,” Clint swatted at her hand and then grabbed the coat she’d taken off to get out of the dress, he dragged it around her. “If they take too long, I’m putting you back in the car with the heat on.” When he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, she shivered. The contrast between his warm hand and her freezing skin reminded her how cold she was all over again.

He gave her a knowing look as she shrugged into the coat.

“Want another pair of socks?” He eyed her feet, and she shook her head.

“Is there hot water?”

“I’ll check.”

They worked quietly, inventorying their current situation. Funny, they woke up in Tony’s chalet a little over twelve hours before, now they were making do with the sketchiest of circumstances. She’d definitely stayed in worse, and it was how her life had gone.

In the plus column, they had power, blankets, a couple of mattresses in decent shape, a sofa that was surprisingly clean that neither remembered moving in, instant coffee, cans of questionably flavored but edible soups, and an electric kettle. On the downside, the pipes had frozen so they’d need to warm them up to get water. They were going to have to make due with the minimal facilities. At least they had the quinjet, she’d had enough of squatting in cold temperatures thank you very much.

“I’m going to make a run for bottled water, and food. You need more than rations.” he told her, and when she would have followed, he pointed her toward the sofa. “Go bundle up.”

When she rolled her eyes, he grew stern and gripped her upper arms. She’d have broken the grip of pretty much anyone else, but this was Clint.

“You’re going to stay here and bundle up. You’re going to give me this, because I got a good look at what could have happened if we never met tonight…and I’m going to need a minute.” His haunted eyes riveted her. “You can do that for me, right?”

Fuck. “Yes—”

“Good.” He let her go and turned heel to stalk toward the door.

“Clint?” At her call, he paused with his back turned. When he didn’t answer her verbally she said, “Thank you.”

Two words weighted with all of their history. The shaking in her hands shivered along her arms. Maybe coming face to face with whom she could have been affected her, too.

“Always,” his soft response lingered even as he was out the door.

Dragging a blanket over her, she burrowed into the corner of the sofa. The old house creaked as the wind pressed against it. Fortunately, they didn’t have to deal with a draft but she couldn’t wait for the others to get back with firewood.

If only to escape the silence where her thoughts were free to scream at her. Pulling her knees to her chest, she leaned her head against them and closed her eyes as the blanket cocooned her. At least her breath could warm the interior and give her the illusion of heat.

Sleep tugged at her, surprising because she didn’t come down from missions that fast. Harder still to sleep in unsecure circumstances—but Steve was safe, right? Clint was obviously. Barnes? No, she could deal with him even if he fell into unsafe territory. That damn familiarity so unsettling and oddly comforting in turns. Yet a part of her couldn’t allow sleep, the images from the club replaying behind her closed lids. Tatiana.

Alexei.

Red Room.

The door slammed open and she jerked her head up, adrenaline spiking.

“Sorry.” Steve winced, but he carried in an armload of wood followed by Barnes equally burdened. “Took us some time to find some.” The woods weren’t far, having bordered the property, but far enough.

Fortunately neither man looked the worse for wear despite time in the cold. Course they were also wearing tactical gear under their heavy coats. If she’d been in her suit, she’d have had an illusion of warmth, too.

“It’s fine.” She really hadn’t wanted to go to sleep, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her. The nightmares when they came—no, she’d rather not sleep at all for a while.

Barnes gave her a long look, then his gaze skimmed the whole of the room before he paced to the bathroom and inspected it. One rule of survival—always know the exits and entrances, build a mental map so it becomes second nature.

“We’ll have a fire going in a minute. Clint said he’d bring back some hot drinks if he could find it.” At least Clint let them know he was going. And hopefully he’d bring back liquor, too. She could use some liquor.

Five minutes later, flames licked over the wood. Some of it was still damp and smoked, but the flue worked, so yay for that.

“Buck,” Steve said as he approached the sofa. “Grab the other side.”

“Hey…what?” She started to sit forward, but the men just lifted the sofa and walked it forward until the fireplace was only three feet away and the hint of warmth from the flames pushed away the chilly air.

Steve grinned down at her, then pulled a knit cap out of his pocket that he in turn jammed over her head and covered her ears. “Better?”

The temptation to flip him off lost the battle to laughter. “I feel like an Eskimo.”

“You’d need more furs to pull that off,” Barnes commented, leaning against the arm of the sofa. His gaze had been on the fire, but he glanced to her and the weight, heavy with expectation, settled on her.

For his part, Steve moved to stand behind her, his hands braced on the back of the sofa. Neither had shed their coats, nor made any attempt to join her on the sofa. After a moment, Steve’s gaze bore into her along with Barnes.

“Ask,” she told them. “I’m not going to break.” The Red Room only broke the breakable ones. She was marble.

Neither man responded for a moment, but she caught Barnes glancing at Steve from the corner of her eye and she could picture Steve meeting his gaze. They’d been doing that more and more over the last couple of days, as Barnes seemed to become more himself, he and Steve had fallen into the kind of communication borne of long familiarity.

Forcing her hunched shoulders to relax, she kept her knees tucked to her chest. It was a childish position, but the urge to protect herself rode her hard. Why hadn’t Clint let her go with him? Because he’d needed some time. Everything at the club had thrown him, and Clint didn’t scare easy.

Could she have become Tanya? Tatiana had been out far longer than Natasha. She’d been on the run, too. They were similar in so many ways, chameleons able to blend into the world around them, making and unmaking themselves at a whim.

Working on wiggling her toes, she finally glanced sideways to find Barnes had resumed his studying look and then over her shoulder to where Steve watched her with a quiet frown.

“What?”

“I think I’ve asked you enough hard questions,” Steve said slowly. “I keep pushing you, and then I get angry when you do tell me things.”

“Okay…” Didn’t explain the staring. “But you obviously want to ask me something, so I’m telling you it’s okay to ask.” Decades of concealing her secrets, and hiding the truth didn’t shed easily—but what did she really have to lose anymore?

“Steve wants to know who Alexei is,” Barnes said, ignoring Steve’s snapped _“Bucky!”_ “He’s worried that there’s more history than just—the place you grew up.”

“The place I grew up?” What a way to make the Red Room sound so benign. “The Red Room isn’t where I grew up. It’s where I was made.” To grow up was to imply she’d had a childhood.

So no, she hadn’t grown up there.

With eyes turning to flint, Barnes nodded, then folded his arms and focused his gaze to the fire. It seemed a very conscious decision on his part and Nat leaned her head back to meet Steve’s gaze. Trouble swam in their deep blue, and she could almost hear him wishing she would trust him, but maybe—just maybe accepting it wasn’t about trust.

“Alexei was the younger son of a prominent general in Moscow—someone with the ear of the Kremlin—and his mistress.” It was weird, she couldn’t always identify what parts of her own history was missing, but she could see Alexei’s as clearly as if it all lay before her. “He was cosseted, spoiled, and indulged with everything he could want—but he had no place in his father’s politics, so they decided a different path for him. A path that would bring honor and service.”

No place in the world—wasn’t that what brought them all to the Red Room?

The rampant nationalism, the love of Mother Russia to dominate all other affections, had been force fed into her diet. Only one loyalty could super cede the motherland and that was to the Red Room itself. If Russia was their mother, then the Red Room had been their wet nurse.

Looking at the fire, Nat pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

“When Alexei joined the first class of boys to be assigned to the Red Room, he was sixteen, cocky, and very enamored of his own legend. He had already decided he would be the best. It was 1943,” she exhaled the words. “The success of Captain America drove the desire to surpass the accomplishments of the Americans in every field. Like the Widows, the men would have to earn that right.”

Both super soldiers went dead still.

“Alexei would use any means to accomplish his goals, including assassination. It was hardly against the rules.” A shudder crawled along her spine. “He had plans, plans beyond the Red Room, beyond his father, beyond the politics. Plans he would execute with all the strength their experiments would give him. In some ways, I think he arrived already a sociopath. The serum he received only enhanced that about him.”

Decades later, she could still hear him ranting, feel the damp spittle hitting her face, and the weight of his forearm across her throat. But Natalia Romanova had not grown up pampered or spoiled, she was not merely a fair face or soft body for him to plunder and when it came to fighting for her life—she’d broken his arm and his collarbone.

She would have done worse if the guards hadn’t interrupted. Yes, Natalia had been punished and Alexei taken away. But they didn’t punish him for his transgressions, they sent him to Arkangelsk, and though it would be a couple of years before she saw him again—he’d never forgiven or forgotten her actions.

And she’s always had to be on her guard.

“How old were you?” was not the question she expected Steve to ask.

“When I broke his arm?”

Nat didn’t look at him; she didn’t want to endure his disappointed stare or worse—his sympathetic one.

“I was thirteen when he came to the Red Room. Fifteen when I broke his arm. Seventeen before I saw him again.” But that wasn’t the last time…and her memory got fuzzy right around then, days, and sometimes whole months of time just gone. Something in her gut said she’d seen him again, a kind of knowing that surpassed memory. In the darker corners of her mind, she could imagine all the ways it had could have gone wrong.

Maybe he’d gotten his revenge.

Maybe she’d tried to kill him.

Maybe they’d danced one too many times.

She couldn’t remember.

Not knowing sucked.

God she felt old.

Steve’s grip on the sofa made the furniture creak. The harsh indrawn breath had him bowing his head, and she twisted to look at him. The muscles in his neck were rigid, and she could almost hear the grinding of his teeth. Barnes could have been a statue for all he moved.

Poor Steve was desperately trying to not yell at her because he didn’t want to be so angry with her anymore.

“I’m sorry I keep disappointing you Steve,” she told him. “But it happened a long time ago…and sometimes I just want to forget it ever did. I want to pretend I’m not what they made me.”

Tony’s response had been equally angry, but not at her—at the Red Room. Steve needed to work past the part where she had kept it from him by omitting the facts. Although, it wasn’t the easiest of topics to work into conversation.

“He’s not going to give up looking for you,” Barnes said when Steve still remained silent. “That’s why you had to get your friend out of the club. She wouldn’t work as a decoy if he knew you so well.”

How much of Barnes’ tactical mind came from being him—a sergeant in the army, who’d served his country in World War II, and how much of it lingered from the Soldier?

“More or less. I doubt Tanya even realized it was him. I know I thought he was dead.” Hoped and prayed if she were that kind of person, but wishful thinking was far less useful than vodka. Course, she sat in a broken down, dilapidated house with two other relics of a bygone age. Arguably, they should all be old and dead.

“Nat please tell me they didn’t put you in cryo.” The quiet plea in Steve’s voice had her twisting totally and rising on her knees on the sofa. She covered one of his clenched hands with his own. “Please tell me they didn’t do to you what they did to Bucky.”

God, she wished she could. “I don’t know. I don’t—think so. But…there are lapses. Holes. Fuzzy places I can’t…remember. So maybe?” Then she skated her thumb over his knuckles. “You have to stop now. You have to come back to the present. We can’t change the past and we can’t predict the future…here and now is what we get.”

“We have what we have,” he said slowly, catching her hand. “When we have it.”

“Pretty much.” The need to comfort him helped shed the malaise gripping her.

“You can’t go to this place—Arkangelsk, you can’t.” He held her hand between both of his now. “If that’s where they did this to you and to him…and he is tied up with it. You can’t go there. We’ll find a way to shut it down that doesn’t involve you. We’ll get Stark.”

“No,” she told him. “You don’t know the place. I do. This is my fight, not yours. I thought he was dead, and now I need to make sure that happens.”

“Natasha…they could kill you.”

“Or worse,” Barnes tacked on like the ray of sunshine he was.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Or worse. You don’t _have_ to do this. We have other options.”

“Steve I’ve run ops since before you had the serum.” His protectiveness was sweet, but she really didn’t want to have this fight. “Death has always been on the table. But I will _not_ allow them to rebuild the Red Room I don’t care what they are calling it. What remains of it should be destroyed…and when I’m the last, if I’m ever the last, then fine—I can go down then and it can all burn in the hell of history.”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” His use of the phrase she’d thrown at him at the airport in Leipzig earned a small smile.

“You know I can’t,” she gave him back his own line.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss there and said, “I don’t want to regret this.”

It was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever done, and that said something for Cap. “I know,” she told him. “Now seems like a good time to tell you that Tony left something for you when he had to go.” It just hadn’t come up, and it was time. Tony had been so right about that. They had too many fires to put out, and they needed all of them. When she left, she had to know they were going to be okay.

“What?” The wariness in his gaze was still present, but he and Tony at least seemed to be bridging past their differences. Maybe it only took them both being willing.

“Your shield.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s on the quinjet. In my locker. Code…”

“...1124.” A wry smile.

Maybe being predictable in some ways wasn’t a bad thing. “It’s yours. He said it was time for you to have it back.”

He lifted his hand as though to touch her face, then curled his fingers and took a step back. “Thanks Nat…I’ll go check on that, and see if I can get something hot to drink for us out there. Not sure how long Clint’s going to be.” He glanced at Barnes, but the other man shook his head. He wasn’t planning on leaving.

After Steve disappeared out of the door, Nat curled back up in the blanket. The heat from the fire warmed her face and helped push the chill away. Having warmed her back while she faced Steve, she trapped the heat with the blanket.

“He’ll be okay. He gets bossy with people he cares about,” Barnes said. “He really cares about you.”

“It’s not a competition,” she told him lightly. “He chose you above everyone else. So you don’t have to worry about your place.” Yes, it had stung but—she understood now. Especially after watching the two of them.

“I’m not worried,” Barnes said, giving her a reproachful look. It’s some of the first honest emotion he’s displayed since they arrived. “Barton’s taking a while.”

“He needed the time.” And she left it at that. Kind of like Steve needed it.

Everyone needed time to adjust to her past.

Even her.

“Tell me more about Alexei.” The request surprised her.

“Why?” She leaned her cheek against the sofa back. Honestly, a part of her just wanted to go to sleep so she could wake up, and get on with the next step.

“I thought I knew him.” The intensity in his gaze made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Like I feel like I know you.”

“You’ve met me more than once—mostly at the other end of a gun.” It definitely bred familiarity, even if something low in her belly tugged at the omission.

“D.C.” he said, holding up a finger, then added a second finger. “Leipzig. I didn’t point a gun at you the second.”

No he hadn’t, even if he’d been armed. “Odessa,” she supplied.

A frown tightened his brows.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember, I think my ego will survive it.” She went for the light response, because frankly she was tired of choking on the sad realities of life and disappointing her friends.

The fact she even had friends should be a cause of joy, and in times like these, she selfishly wished she didn’t so she couldn’t hurt them.

“I shot you in Odessa?” He asked as he raked his metal hand through his hair and pulled it away from his face.

“Nuclear scientist, I was smuggling him out of Iran. You shot out my tires in Odessa, sent the car down a cliff. But I got the scientist out—then you were there.” Pushing the blanket away, she tugged up the sweatshirt to show him her abdomen. “I tried to shield him and you shot him through me.”

Barnes stared at the puckered skin and scar tissue. And almost on an impulse he stretched a hand forward to touch it, then withdrew before making contact. “You had a gun…you could have shot me.” His eyes sharpened on her face. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I don’t know,” she told him. “I knew I should, I knew I had to protect my asset. But I couldn’t shoot you.”

“Then you feel like you know me, too?” Was there something hopeful edging his voice?

“Maybe,” she admitted, abandoning the blanket to stand in front of the fire. She’d lost the full body chill. “I don’t know. Don’t know if I want to know. I have so many holes in my head.”

“Steve was one of the holes in mine,” Barnes admitted, his tone thoughtful. “I wouldn’t mind if you were one.”

A huff of laughter escaped. “Familiar doesn’t always mean liked, you know that, right?”

“Maybe. Somehow I think I must have liked you. You are very likeable.”

“When I’m not being scary?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. What the hell was she doing? Was she really flirting with the Winter Soldier? Ugh, she needed vodka.

“You are still likeable when your scary is pointed at other people. I didn’t really like it when you hit me in the nuts.” A smile twisted his lips. “The kicks hurt too, but the nut punch made it hard to breathe.”

“I didn’t really care for being choked out on a table, so we’ll call that one a draw.”

His gaze flickered up to hers, the ice blue of his eyes warmer somehow. Maybe that was where the real difference between the Soldier and Barnes lay. “I think I would have killed you if not for T’Challa. You were a threat to the mission.” Self-loathing spread across his expression and he scrubbed a hand against his face. “I hate this.”

“Remembering?” She wasn’t really a fan when the flashbacks hit.

“Not just remembering, but—feeling it. Knowing what thoughts went through my mind. You were a greater threat than the others, and I don’t know _why_. I know if T’Challa hadn’t knocked me free, I would have tried to crush your throat. Remove you from the board. It’s what I was doing in D.C.”

“So maybe just a throw back to that mission?” Somehow, she didn’t think she had been on Zemo’s radar other than as collateral. Even after SHIELD fell, few seemed to notice Natasha’s position on the Avengers. The stories always covered Iron Man, Cap, the other guy, and Thor. She and Clint faded into the background.

She was okay with that.

“No. Zemo wanted information about a mission report from when Hydra sent me to kill the Starks. He wanted to know about the serum I liberated, and the other Winter Soldiers. He wanted to know where they were.” He gnawed at his lower lip, and it struck her how chapped his lips were. Someone needed to introduce him to a lip balm.

“What mission did he give you?” If all the guy had wanted was information, he wouldn’t have set him loose.

“He ordered me to escape…any means necessary. Don’t let anyone stop me. I was a distraction.” He was almost bemused. “A distraction to cover his own escape.”

“Zemo was an excellent intelligence operative. He could read a room, read people, and he knew how to make it hurt. If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure I was just supposed to be collateral damage. He wanted Steve and Tony to destroy each other.” She could almost admire the skill it took to succeed with that type of manipulation.

Almost.

“That happened. He won.” Barnes turned his hands over, then dropped then to rest on his knees. “And in the end, he tore the Avengers apart.”

“If that were the end of the story, then yeah maybe. But Siberia wasn’t the end of the story. Tony survived. You got help for your arm and your head. Steve got his best friend back. Don’t get me wrong. We lost some stuff, but you won some, too.” Maybe, with a little time and care, they’d finish bridging their differences and heal the wounds Zemo left raw and open in them. Tony and Steve had been friends. It would be good if they could get that back.

And if the Accords went away along with Ross. Then the whole team could hold hands and skip in the meadow while the birds sang a melody. Shaking her head, she abandoned the area of the sofa to pace over to the window.

Clint had been gone a really long time. Steve was still out at the quinjet.

“You didn’t include yourself when you talked about wins,” Barnes said from directly behind her, and she was proud of the fact she didn’t jump. The man had surprised the hell out of her.

“Because I didn’t win anything.”

“So you only lost?” Was he trying to rub it in or just sort it out?

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, studying the darkness. No moon out to give even a facsimile of light. “But I was probably getting too comfortable and too soft anyway. It’s good to remember the world isn’t roses and cupcakes.”

“You deflect a lot,” he commented, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “You shouldn’t. I’m not going to judge.”

“I don’t care if you judge,” she snapped. “Like your opinion matters to me.” Odd familiarity aside, no—her feelings were sympathetic because Hydra tortured him for decades. That was where her feelings had to stop. Especially now the Soldier seemed to have retreated or integrated or whatever it was the Wakandan doctors felt would happen over time.

“Redirect by counter attacking, pull attention off the subject you want avoided.”

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, she tried to ignore the pleased look on his face. The guy was trying to remember how to be a real boy—a real person. She needed to let him have it.

Fixing her gaze to the window, she folded her arms. The coat over the sweatshirt helped, but it was still colder here than by the fire. “It’s an effective technique.”

“You can also just tell me to mind my own business,” Barnes lowered his voice as he narrowed the gap between them. He was right up against her back, so close she could feel the heat of him through her coat.

“What is it with you and personal space?”

“You’re still cold and your lips were blue earlier. It’s why Barton didn’t want you leaving and why Steve wanted you closer to the fire. You’re still pale, and you’re not shivering, even though your breath is frosting in the air. That means you might be too cold.” That was a lot of words to string together. “I’m not cold. So I’m sharing heat.”

“Got it. I’ll go back to the fire.” Because awareness of him swarmed over her and she didn’t want him that close, especially right at her back, when she didn’t know if the next time he snapped would be the time he killed her. At least a few feet away gave her something resembling a fighting chance.

Touching the comm unit behind her ear she said, “Clint are you in range?” They had a fairly good radius on their comms units, but they weren’t infinite and they had to stay on limited channels to avoid intercepts.

She gave it another beat then repeated the call.

Maybe she was just being twitchy, and still wound up—first the club, and Alexei, then the confessions to the guys, then Steve’s questions and another awkward—no just uncomfortable—interaction with Barnes. Everything felt a little raw, a little tight.

“Steve, do you copy?” They could have turned their comms off. Not an unreasonable reaction. But if it had been her out, and she’d done it… No, Cap tended to be all about lines of communication.

“Steve.” Barnes said, his voice crackling with command. It was the most confidant she’d heard him be since his over the top flirting that first morning. “Respond.”

“Steve should be in range, the quinjet’s just out there.”

She shared a look with Barnes, and the moment elongated. Something was wrong, and it took a heartbeat to decide to act. She jammed her feet into the sneakers, leaving them laced up to save time. Next she had both glocks out and passed one to Barnes. He had his rifle, which he shouldered. After adding extra magazines to her pockets and slipping one of her knives inside the coat, she nodded to him.

They were halfway to the quinjet when the rear hatch opened and Steve came out, he had a couple of to go coffee cups in hand. The hatch sealed up as he walked away, eyebrow raised at their presence and most likely their weapons.

“You didn’t answer,” Barnes told him without preamble. “Why isn’t your comm on?”

“Sorry,” Steve said with a wince, followed by a guilty flush. Steve Rogers had no poker face. “I had to turn it off for a sec, then forgot to turn it back on—but I did manage to heat some water with the microwave.”

Why had he needed to turn it off? Before she could ask the question, the rumble of multiple engines heading in their direction pulled her around.

“Clint took a while to get back…” Steve said.

“Not just Clint,” Natasha stated in the same breath as Barnes. The other engines revved at a higher RPM. Lights flickered in the distance through the trees, but the house wasn’t visible from the road. Another plus for it.

She was already running back to the house to grab their gear, Barnes a step behind her. Steve had likely returned to the quinjet, which was good. They needed to be aboard and get Clint.

“Clint, do you copy?”

“Don’t really have time to talk dear,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “I have my hands full, so you might want to get some takeout.”

Not a clever code by their standards but enough to tell her he needed help. “I’m already dialing it in. Fancy anything special?” Her go bag, Clint’s, and two blankets in hand. Barnes had his bag and Steve’s, and he got the fire out. They were out the door and headed to the quinjet.

“I was thinking a just under a dozen donut holes.” Not quite twelve pursuers—hence the multiple vehicles. “Maybe some of that American blend you didn’t care for?” Ross.

“Really, you want something I don’t like?” Was it really Ross?

“Unfortunately sweetheart. I’ve just can’t seem to shake the craving.” They’d found him somewhere and he’d been trying to lose them.

“Anything else you need?” Was he hurt?

On board the quinjet, she shoved the bags under the bench and glanced over at Steve. Barnes dropped into the co-pilot seat as soon as she was aboard.

“Could go for some wraps maybe, if you’re not in the mood for donuts. That stuff will kill you, you know.” Shit. He was hurt.

“I’ve sent the order in, should be here soon.”

“Great, can’t wait to see you.” The cadence of his words was off, but she’d already gotten her locker open, slid out the weapons case and chose the Savage. Never had she been more thankful that Steve stole the quinjet she used most often. Barnes glanced at her sharply.

“Need me?”

“No,” she told him and hit the switch to close off the cockpit before killing all the lights in the back before she opened the rear hatch. The cold air whooshed in and instantly chilled her, but she barely noticed it. “Steve, get ahead of Clint’s car, about two hundred feet.”

“Almost there,” Steve told her. “You planning on dropping down there?” Because his tone said it was a bad idea.

“Nope. Clint asked for takeout. I’m going to take some cars out.”

On her stomach on the ramp, she settled the Savage 110BA Stealth Rifle. While she didn’t perform as many long-range shots as she had in the past, she loved new toys. Stark had modified this one at her request. The scope included a night vision setting, and ranged display to give her an accurate distance from the target.

It was a sweet piece of work.

“30 seconds,” Steve’s voice carried over the comms.

Her breathing slowed as she put herself into the right space, her eye to the scope. The vibrations from the engines below, and the wind rushing from the open hatch faded away and the metal under her hands warmed. The quinjet swung around, the terrain swiveling as Steve paralleled the road Clint followed. She checked the lead vehicle, verified it was Clint.

Then adjusted her view for the vehicle following. SUV. Blacked out windows. Probably armored. Tires could be reinforced. The sniper rifle used .338 lampua magnum shells. Armored tires wouldn’t be a problem.

“Clint, take out’s here. You should put your foot down.” One small adjustment and she brushed her finger over the trigger.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Her heart rate slowed.

Then she measured the beats, and fired in between them. The first SUV swerved hard, causing the one behind it to slam into it. She took out another tire on the lead vehicle even as it began to tumble. Then switched for the jagged swinging of the second even as it careened toward the first. Two shots. Two tires. No need to assume it was disabled when she could simply disable it.

The third vehicle scrambled around the first two, went off road, and then back up. She’d lost sight of it for a second, but she kept her arm steady. Bastard swerved just as she pulled the trigger, the bullet slammed into the frame. The next one hit the tire.

Last shot, back tire and the car screamed as it screeched to the side and down into a ditch.

She inhaled and kept her eye on the scope. No more vehicles closed the distance. Then movement at the edge of the road, racing through the shadows. Not a car.

Motorcycle.

Civilian?

“Natasha?!” Steve’s snapped command penetrated her focus, but she didn’t let it distract her.

“Hang on.” Narrowing the focus, she used the night vision to focus on the rider. Reinforced jacket—possible metal plating. Heavy duty leg wear and military boots. The motorcycle slowly gained on Clint’s car. She hadn’t told him to stop yet, so he wouldn’t.

Movement. A weapon extending.

Decision made.

She targeted the fuselage at the back. It wouldn’t be pretty, but he wouldn’t get any closer to Clint.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Fire.

A plume of flame erupted from the bike as the back wheel came off the ground and flung the rider forward. She didn’t watch to see if she’d added red to her ledger.

She could live with a little more.

“Food’s ready. Meet you in three.”

Three more minutes, a little more distance and Clint slung the car over to the side of the road. She was already on her feet, rifle stowed and glock in hand. She didn’t wait for Steve to get all the way down, leaping out when they had a few feet left to go. The pavement jarred her shoulder, and she probably picked up some road rash with her tuck and roll, but she didn’t care.

She studied the vehicle as she ran to the driver’s side door. Clint hadn’t said anything about guests, but she had no idea how the hell Ross’ men found him. Twelve man squad, and one a bike? Special forces of some kind. Which meant more could be on their way soon if they weren’t already.

His door opened and he gave her a gray smile. His jacket gaped as he slid out, and she got a look at the rapidly spreading dark stain. “Just winged, I’m good.” But she ignored his bravado and slid an arm around him.

“Lean on me.”

“There’s still actual food in the car…” Then Steve was there and he got ahold of Clint.

“I got him.”

Beyond at the quinjet, Barnes stood on the ramp, his gaze fixed on the road, her M249 SAW in his hands.

“Get the food, Tasha.” Clint called back. “Some hot rolls in there. Need to eat.”

After snatching the bags off the passenger seat, she tossed an explosive into the car to burn the interior. When she reached the ramp, she pressed the detonator and a small, controlled explosion blew out the windows, set the interior on fire.

Barnes followed her up the ramp, still facing the road until the hatch closed. “Definitely scary,” he murmured.

Steve was already getting them in the air as she set the food down and went to Clint.

“It’s a through and through,” he told her. “Didn’t hit the bone. Barely even stings.”

“Uh huh.” She grunted, and pulled off her coat to free her arms. Then she went to work cutting away the shirt so she could treat his wound. They’d done this so many times, she moved from the first aid back to him, cleaning it out and stitching him closed.

“Where are we headed?” Steve asked, his attention on the controls. They hadn’t really discussed their next stop. She wanted Arkangelsk. None of them would go for it, and with Clint hurt, she’d rather get him somewhere safe.

“We can take you back to the chalet,” she told her partner and he shot her a sharp look, then flipped her off. “Or you can just suffer. I’m good.” She managed to not roll her eyes, but only barely and maybe she wasn’t gentle when she hit him with an antibiotic shot. Clint wasn’t her. He wouldn’t be healed in the next day or two.

“Azzano,” Barnes said as he moved to join them. He’d stowed her SAW and apparently the sniper rifle, too. Fine, she’d clean it later. Probably not a good idea while her hands trembled and she worked diligently to cover it.

“Buck?” Made sense Steve would call him on it. The same way they didn’t want her to go to Arkangelsk.

“No I don’t want to go, but we need more info on these people. The woman at the club…”

“Tanya,” Nat supplied as she taped the waterproof bandage over Clint’s stitches both front and back.

“Yes. She offered up the information too easily, dismissing all but one target. If I wanted to make sure you went somewhere, that would be the way to do it.” Not an unfair argument.

“But she knows she owes me.”

“She didn’t seem to be all there, doll. I’m thinking Azzano, get more data points.”

Doll? Really? Nat rolled her eyes, but Clint tapped her arm once. “It’s a good plan. You don’t trust your past, why would you trust her?”

Hard to explain to anyone who hadn’t been there. But Tanya gained nothing in killing her. Even though she’d sold her out, she’d warned her. “You sure about Azzano?” She tried to recall where it was on the map, inland from the Mediterranean on the eastern side of Italy.

“Yeah,” Barnes said.

“And food,” Clint said with a lopsided grin turned grimace as he took a couple of pain pills. They were low dosage, and he couldn’t afford to be muddled, at least not until she had him somewhere safe.

Nat calculated where they had safe houses in the region. They needed rest, Clint definitely did. “Venice?” It would be a challenge, but the safe house there was nice. If it hadn’t been compromised…

“Venice,” Clint agreed.

She nodded, it would be better if she took over flying. It would be tricky getting the quinjet in. Tricky, but not impossible. At least not where she was planning to park it. Clint caught her hand before she could move away. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

She grinned. “Always.”

Then she headed to the cockpit, and tapped Steve on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” He’d already turned their trajectory south, and had the calculations up on the map to figure out a course to Venice.

“I’ll take over, okay?”

He nodded, sliding out of the seat so she could slide in. Autopilot on the quinjet helped, but they still needed to stay lower than flight patterns and radar, while high enough to not run into things like mountains.

Steve didn’t leave her, instead he put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” she told him, the flippant response not as far from the truth as it might be. Success always buoyed her mood, having a plan was a definite runner up. “Could use some water.”

It took him less than a minute to return with it, and he had a stacked sandwich biscuit looking thing in the other hand. “Eat.”

An hour and a half later, she had touched down on the roof patio as gently as a bird lighting on a wire. It was late, and they shut all the lights off before they exited the quinjet. The stealth mode was probably the best thing ever invented. Steve stayed with Clint while she and Barnes cleared the interior—no one waited in the shadows to ambush them, all security measures in place. They hadn’t been compromised.

Good.

Steve and Barnes were both impressed with the apartment. Clint owned the whole building under a cover ID—one utterly unrelated to any of hers. Fully furnished, she’d used it for a vacation once when she just needed to escape everyone and everything. It was also a good place to heal up from missions gone wrong.

Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and all the amenities. Even better. The freezer had the bottle of vodka she desperately needed.

After getting Clint settled for the night with a stronger pain reliever, she slipped out to the canal patio and stared over the city. Venice had a very different personality from so many other places. The history here, the charm—she could live in Venice maybe. If she were ever to put down roots.

Clint would laugh at her, because it was hard to sink roots in a floating city. Maybe why she liked it. The boards of the patio creak as someone walked out to join her. She just took another long drink, straight from the bottle not needing a glass. She didn’t intend to share it, either.

Steve dropped onto the lounge chair behind her, then stretched out a leg so it almost touched but didn’t. He’d showered, the fresh scent of soap and _Steve_ clinging to him. The air was cool here, the breeze nice, but it wasn’t as cold as Prague or as frigid as the chalet.

Another long swallow of the vodka and some of the tension in her gut loosened. Tanya, Alexei, Ross’s men—it all brought back too many memories. Add the bizarre familiarity of Barnes, and it was like she’d been trapped in some time capsule from hell on the run from the Red Room—for the first time?—with no allies and no outs.

“You want to talk about it?” Steve asked. He’d given her almost an hour, just sitting with her before he spoke.

Despite his flaws, Steve really was a nice guy. More than a nice guy. He was perfect in ways she didn’t know people could be perfect.

Then again she couldn’t really throw stones where flaws were concerned.

“Not really,” she answered, her voice steady. The treatments they’d done to her made getting drunk damn hard. Not impossible, like Steve. Thank every deity known to man. If she could never get drunk, she’d have lost her mind a long time before. “I feel like all I keep doing is ripping myself open so everyone can see how ugly it is inside.”

If she wasn’t ripping herself open, the world was.

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, then took another long drink and drained the last of the bottle. Was there a second one in there? She hoped so. When she would have stood to go and get it, Steve snagged her around the waist and pulled her back to him, her back to his chest and he swung his other leg up to settle her in the v of his legs.

“Rogers?” She enunciated his name slowly, with warning. “What are you doing?”

“Shh, please.” he told her, arms tightening around her. “Clint would do this, but he’s sleeping and hurt. You’re upset. This isn’t our first mission, and you’re fine right here.”

“You know I could break your hand.” The hand in question currently rested on her hip. Not that he was wrong, she and Steve had grown comfortable over the last few years—or at least they had before the Accords. Before Zemo.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t, but I totally respect your ability to do so.”

Nat let out a strangled laugh. “Good. As long as we’re clear on it.”

“Absolutely clear, ma’am.” The ma’am earned him a pinch, but he just chuckled. “I do have one question I need to ask.”

A part of her sighed, because he’d asked a few hard questions already today and even with the vodka, she felt raw and exposed. “Go ahead…but I may need another bottle.”

“It’s not that bad,” he assured her, and he ran a hand up her arm.

“I’ll reserve judgment.” Then he cheated by working his fingers into the knots at along her neck and shoulders. “At least until you ask.”

“Fair.” He dug his thumb into a particularly tough knot. “I promise, it’s not that bad.”

She groaned. “Then ask already, you’re interrupting my brooding. Worse, you’re interrupting my drinking. Never get between a Russian and her vodka.”

“So I’ve heard.” He chuckled, then paused with his hands on her shoulders as if he prepared for her to bolt. “All these years…and you called me the fossil, really?”

Unrepentant, a grin creased her cheeks, and a fresh tumble of laughter broke through and she leaned her head against his shoulder so she could glance up at him. “You’re still older.”

“You know what Romanoff?” There was comfort in familiar interactions. He worked a thumb against the locked muscle along the back of her neck.

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t ask her any more questions. Sitting on the patio, she stared at Venice with Steve warm at her back. For a little while, she indulged in the fantasy that everything would be okay and that people like her got happy endings.

 


	25. So what's our play?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help,Nat surprisingly lets herself get some sleep. In the meanwhile Steve and Bucky finally talk. In the early hours of dawn, Clint makes a one thing clear to both.

Chapter Twenty-Five

_So what’s our play?_

Steve

 

Life had always been filled with imperfect yet precious moments, but Steve couldn’t find the words to describe sitting on the patio of some safe house of Clint and Nat’s in the dark hours of the Venetian night with Natasha sound asleep against his chest. He didn’t even know when she’d relaxed into sleep, having been content to simply hold her. Content she’d _let_ him hold her.

She’d been born in 1930.

She had a variant of the super soldier serum—apparently courtesy of Erskine. Had the doc known? Steve hoped to God he hadn’t, because he’d always been fond of the doctor who’d taken a chance on him and given him an immeasurable gift. To know he might also be responsible for even a fraction of the hell Natasha endured…no, he couldn’t bear to think on it.

She was probably his closest friend save for Bucky.

When he’d had nothing, he’d had Bucky and if he were honest, when he’d had nothing, not even Bucky—he’d had Natasha in his corner.

Nat who trained him to be a better fighter, who eased him into the future, who teased and cajoled him from his bad moods, and who fought side by side with him as her world tumbled down around her.

He’d always known she had a past, a dark one soaked in blood and loss. But the way she talked about Alexei turned his guts inside out. Just below the calm in her voice was a note of fear.

Natasha was fearless.

She captivated foes and allies alike.

She used their lust against them, and turned their preconceived notions upside down.

She was a gifted spy, a talented fighter, and a brilliant tactician.

Glancing down at her, he stroked his thumb along the line of her neck. Just a light motion, but she didn’t stir. The massage had been his way of saying sorry, aware of how taut her muscles got after a conflict and she’d not been allowed time to come down from what happened in the club.

That woman she’d met…a shudder of revulsion wound around him. She was like some warped version of Natasha, lacking all the compassion, humor, and kindness that made Nat, Nat.

The creak of the patio boards alerted him to company even as the sound blended in with the laps of the canal. Bucky appeared in his periphery, he’d showered and changed. Apparently he’d taken the time to shave, too. He looked more and more like himself. He held a blanket in his hands, and he glanced at Nat then Steve in question.

“She’s exhausted,” he said, nodding to him. Buck snapped the blanket out and draped it over her, while Steve drew it up to cover her shoulders. He’d probably roast, but he didn’t care.

Without waiting for an invitation, Bucky pulled a second lounger closer and sat. His attention fixed on Natasha for a long moment. Those stares made Steve uncomfortable, because he couldn’t parse what was going through his oldest friend’s mind at times like this. Then he’d turn around and just be Bucky with a quick grin, and a dry remark.

Except when Nat was present. He went quiet, and watchful around her. Steve wasn’t the only one to notice. Clint had been giving Bucky flinty eyed looks, often placing himself between the pair or distracting Nat into moving away.

If he weren’t so fresh into his recovery, Steve would press the issue. But Bucky had been improving, and Steve had to cling to the hope he would continue and they’d get past this odd obsession.

 _But will he really?_ The uncharitable thought drifted through his mind as he pulled his attention from Bucky to the woman tucked against Steve’s chest. Her hair spilled over his collar, and tickled his throat. A small frown tightened the line between her brows, her right hand clenched into a fist where it rested against her chest, and her eyes flickered and danced as though she dreamt.

He knew she had nightmares. Had seen her jerk awake on a mission, sweat damp on her brow, pupils dilated, and her breathing harsh. But she never screamed. The noiselessness haunted him, because she’d learned to not make a sound even when trapped in horror.

“Is she going to be okay?” Bucky asked, a crack in the hoarseness of his voice.

“I don’t know,” Steve told him honestly. “I want her to be. I want to make sure she is.” If she’d let him.

“She’s strong.” The fingers of his metal hand twitched. “The longer I’m around her…”

“She has that effect on people,” Steve said wryly. On him as much as anyone. On Tony—the conversation on the quinjet tickled the back of his mind. After Natasha’s confessions in the safe house, he’d gone to the ship ostensibly to retrieve his shield.

Instead he called Tony.

The man had been surprised to hear him, then worried. _“Is Nat okay?”_

The immediacy of the concern shouldn’t have surprised Steve, then he’d flushed with guilt. He kept thinking too little about who Tony was beneath all the flash he showed the world. Despite their differences and what happened in Siberia, Tony had come through to help find Nat. He’d given Steve and Bucky both a place to stay.

They weren’t friends again.

But maybe they weren’t enemies.

 _“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling.”_ Steve confessed.

_“What’s happening?”_

So Steve told him, all of what went down at the club, about Tatiana and Alexei. Tony listened without comment until Steve brought him up to speed.

_“What was this Alexei character’s full name?”_

_“Shostakov, or something close to that. I didn’t get a last name on Tanya,”_ he’d admitted before Tony could answer. _“But she’s a little older than Nat and she got a version of the serum, apparently batch 5.”_

 _“You know, I used to like mad scientists, thought they pushed the world. Starting to think they make more problems than they solved.”_ The wry remark had made Steve laugh.

 _“Tony, she’s scared of whoever this guy is.”_ Even as he said the words, he worried about betraying her with the observation. _“I’ve never seen her scared of anyone—or anything.”_ That worried him more than anything.

 _“Stick with her Cap,”_ Tony said after a moment. _“She’s going to try and shake you.”_

 _“I know.”_ It was Nat. She would go her own way, her determination to protect all of them a source of endless frustration when she wouldn’t let them protect her in turn. _“None of us will let her.”_

 _“None of you, huh?_ ” There was something in Tony’s voice. _“Barnes that gone on her already?”_

Already? No. Steve suspected Buck had been gone on her for a long time, longer than either Bucky or Natasha knew and he didn’t like the way his stomach twisted with anger and more than a little possessiveness at the idea. How did he say, he thinks he knows her…and she told us she found him familiar, too. Neither of them knows what to do with it. So, he settled for, _“Bucky’s always had a thing for red heads.”_ A part of him disliked the description because it seemed to cheapen it, but it was enough for Tony who chuckled without much humor.

_“Keep me in the loop. I’m still working on things here.”_

_“How’s that going?”_ He’d almost forgotten they had a whole other world of issues beyond the immediacy of the hunt they were on.

_“Don’t ask. I’m dealing with it.”_

Before, Steve might have demanded Tony fill him in, or at least run his plans past him. Now though? _“Let me know if you need me for anything…and thank you Tony._ ”

The conversation grew awkward at that point, and Tony had to go. Steve sat in the quinjet a few minutes more, he hadn’t looked at the shield yet. Didn’t really think he deserved it, despite Tony’s message. Finally, he’d made some coffee and got moving to rejoin them in the house. The subsequent flight and chase, with Nat using a rifle to take out Clint’s pursuers—the quinjet had weapons and at first, he’d wondered why she wouldn’t use those.

But Natasha planned three steps ahead. She’d used the stealth of the quinjet and the darkness to her advantage, minimized casualties and freed Clint. Bucky had looked at her in awe for the shots, but Nat shrugged it off.

It was just another mission for her.

Having seen her leap off his shield onto an alien sled flying at high speed, Steve understood the awe.

Now, he sat there in Venice grateful she’d trusted him enough to rest, and let him hold her. The last time they’d been this close, he’d nearly ended up with her strangling him because he’d gone a step too far.

“Buck,” he said quietly, all too aware of his friend’s fixed look on Natasha. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “I feel better when she’s close, and more when I can see her.” Then he shrugged. “She doesn’t like me though.”

“I don’t think she doesn’t not like you,” Steve offered. “Nat’s complicated.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth kicked up and he was all Brooklyn again. “The best dames are complicated, Stevie. You wouldn’t look twice at just a pretty face.” What he didn’t add was Bucky had always enjoyed a pretty face, but he’d never found a girl who made him go back a second time.

“You might not want to keep calling her a dame,” he advised. “Modern women don’t seem to be fond of labels.”

A small chuckle worked free from Bucky. “Gotten to know a few modern women?”

“A few,” Steve admitted. “Mostly courtesy of Natasha trying to fix me up on dates.” And filling him in on modern lingo, dating rules, and her very own version of the ten best ways to not screw up a date.

He did most of them much to her hilarity, particularly where she was concerned. Yet, she kept suggesting different women for him, threw in some men to tease him and he’d enjoyed her expression when he’d taken one of those guys on a date. Jason had been a good guy, funny and smart. He worked in SHIELD logistics. They had zero chemistry, and it didn’t seem to bother either of them. While the meal and conversation had been fun, the look on Nat’s face had been priceless when she asked how it went and he said he didn’t kiss and tell.

Finding out Jason had been Hydra had been a gut punch.

Finding out Natasha had hunted him down personally left a far warmer feeling in his middle.

“Yeah?” Buck’s gaze dropped down to her again, and Steve had to fight the urge to curve his arms to hide her away. When she was still like this, and asleep, she appeared so vulnerable. “Any of those dates work out?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted. Natasha never fixed him up with the one woman he’d really been interested in. But he’d had her friendship for so long, he’d told himself he could settle.

Now, he wasn’t so certain anymore. He didn’t think there would ever be enough of Natasha, not after the gaping hole he’d torn in himself when he walked away from her in Leipzig.

Fingers lightly linked together, Bucky nodded. They sat there in the dark and the quiet, apparently Bucky wasn’t tired either. Steve could go a few days without sleep, maybe Bucky was the same—even if he had slept a great deal since returning from Wakanda. Every time he woke, he seemed more himself.

For as tough as she was—and God knew she was the toughest woman he’d ever met—Natasha required sleep. He likened her to Peggy Carter at their first meeting, stern, stoic, and in control. Then after the battle of New York, he recognized her the way another soldier would—but she wasn’t a soldier. At least…that wasn’t _all_ she was. She was so much more. Her skin was soft and she had a way of sparking laughter with her eyes as the corners of her mouth tilted into a smirk. Even when she laughed at you, she wasn’t mocking so much as joining in the mirth and hoping you would, too.

Beyond the laughter were the moments when her expression would blank and her emerald eyes would harden, almost sharpened to points as if she wielded them like she did her knives. Those moments transformed her into _other_ , a place he couldn’t read or necessarily understand—but he knew well enough that whoever stood in her path would pay. She could kill a man with her thighs, and she could clear a room without a single weapon beyond her own hands.

“We shouldn’t have let the woman go,” Bucky said after a long moment, and his voice had the same low-tonal quality Nat got when she delivered flat facts. _“He killed eighty people in two days,”_ was her comment on Loki when Thor wanted them to speak of his brother with respect. Thor never corrected her again.

“It wasn’t our call,” Steve said, instead of agreeing aloud. “But she might be a problem.”

“She _will_ be,” Bucky murmured, leaning forward to catch a stray lock of Nat’s hair that had drifted across her face and tucking it behind her ear. He moved with an economy of motion, careful to not touch her or disturb her. “She hates Natalia—loathes her because she’s jealous.”

“You got all that from their conversation?” Granted it had been—awkward to listen to two women play coy with their voices both promising sex. But even repeating the conversation in his head, he couldn’t pinpoint where Bucky got the idea.

“Twice she brought up traps and Natalia ending it. Twice she teased her for her heart. Then in the alley…” Bucky’s gaze cut away.

“What about the alley?” Steve hadn’t been in a position to see the fight there, nor had Clint. Bucky had moved when they realized where Nat and Tanya were going.

“Natalia didn’t see her face when her back was to the other woman.” His expression blank and his eyes cold, Bucky looked far closer to the Soldier stalking out of the UN facility in Berlin than he did Steve’s oldest friend. “She was ready to stab her in the back, all that wanton playfulness turned into cruel malice. She is not the type you save…she is the type you kill.”

The eerie echoing of Sam’s words startled Steve. “Someone said that about you once.”

“And once they would have been right.” Warmth bled back into his expression, and he released a small grin. “Maybe they still are.”

“If you thought she would have gone for Nat, why didn’t you shoot her?” Steve had a point to make. Bucky wasn’t the Soldier. He wasn’t the tool he’d been made to be anymore than Natasha was. Guilt was different from responsibility. They weren’t responsible for their actions no matter how much guilt they carried.

“If she’d moved another step forward, I would have.” Implacable. Blunt. “I would have painted the alley with her blood if she’d turned that knife on Natalia. I don’t like that woman and I don’t trust her.”

“You keep calling her Natalia…” Just like the woman at the club, and Zola. Not who Steve wanted to associate with her.

“It’s her name,” Bucky insisted, his voice quieting and his frown deepening. “Natalia…Natasha is a nickname, an affection, but it’s not who she is.”

Dread curled in his stomach. “You’re remembering her?”

Wait. Zola. 1943. Natasha said she met Alexei the same year, and that was when Zola captured Bucky, when he experimented on him.

What if Zola had connections to the Red Room? Or would they have been at odds because the Soviets fought the Germans?

Could Nat really have been alive when Steve went to Europe? He’d even done a stint in the Soviet Union alongside the Howling Commandos as they rooted out Hydra encampments all a part of the plan as they circled in on Schmidt’s primary base.

Before the train.

Before Bucky fell.

“No,” Bucky said with a grimace and raked both of his hands through his damp hair, flattening it away from his face. “It’s like it’s there—right at the tip of my tongue but I can’t quite catch it. I close my eyes and I can see her, just…a glimpse. Then she’s gone.”

Dipping his gaze to check she was still asleep, Steve measured her breathing and the fact her eyelids continued to move. Her whole body was lax against him as if it had finally abandoned all the tension cording her muscles.

“You wrote about her in your journals,” he admitted, both to let Bucky know he wasn’t imagining it and confessing he’d read them.

“I wondered where those had gone,” Bucky admitted, but instead of angry—he seemed intrigued.

“They’re in my backpack—a few of them. I meant to give them back, but…you took the data pad Shuri gave you to Natasha for some reason. I wasn’t sure if you would take the journals.” He didn’t miss the surprise skittering over Buck’s face. “All she told me was you wanted to give her your mission readiness, but that was in those first few hours after you arrived at the Chalet.”

“Huh.” Was the news unsettling? “I could pick a worse handler.” Making light of his history might help Buck, but Steve wasn’t there yet. “Do you remember what I wrote about her?”

“I didn’t read all of them, a lot of references to her name and to the fact _your_ red head wasn’t at Coney Island.” Steve grimaced.

“Dot was.” Bucky said slowly. “But she wasn’t my red head.”

“No, but she was one.”

Steve shoved aside the jealousy crawling through his gut. Neither of his friends needed to deal with him on this level, not right now. They had enough problems. He was a big boy; his feelings could wait. “On one page you wrote something about the ballerinas of the Bolshoi were a lie. They were all widows. Until there was one.”

The words struck Steve more because he couldn’t understand how Bucky could have known Nat or Nat Bucky without her saying anything. The idea she would withhold something so critical— _after_ they fought the Winter Soldier together and she knew who he was to Steve had wounded him far more than he cared to admit.

But Nat hadn’t known. She might be the most accomplished liar on the planet, but the hollowness in her eyes when she answered their questions about the Red Room, about Alexei, and the way she dealt with Bucky? No, she wasn’t lying.

“I’m going to get the journals,” Bucky said abruptly, though like Steve he kept his voice pitched low enough to not bother the sleeping assassin. “Do you need anything?”

“Water maybe? One of those power bars.” He hadn’t eaten near enough food, but no way would he disturb Natasha to get himself anything.

Buck nodded, then he brushed a hand against Steve’s shoulder. During his absence, Steve tipped his head to look down at Nat. Another thing he could thank the serum for was his night vision; he could make out the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes dipped and the fullness of her lips. A fierce and unexpected ache ripped through him.

He wanted to be back in his D.C. apartment with Nat sprawled on the sofa, ribbing him for his taste in records even as she made no attempt to change the music. The softness in her laughter when she bounced up to face him over the back of the sofa while he cooked using one of the new recipes he’d found on the internet. No matter what concoction he found, she was always willing to be his guinea pig.

After food, she’d make popcorn and drag him to the sofa where they would scratch off another of his re-education in cinema films. Action movies they could mock, spy movies she rolled her eyes at—even James Bond, but she would usually rate the women Bond went through and told him which ones she would have tapped mission or no. Sometimes he thought she did it just to see him blush, and other times, he worried about the glint in her eyes as she pulled apart Bond’s tactics. She could do it so much better and broke it down so easily it might have frightened others.

Not Steve, though. If he were wholly honest, he found her mind more attractive than her body. If only he could go back to those moments, and take the risk of asking her out for a real date, or daring to kiss her. More than once, he’d fantasized about it. The night they dropped onto the Lemurian Star she trotted out a list of names for him, and the whole time, he imagined kissing the smirk off her face before he leapt out of the quinjet.

Then he found her doing Fury’s mission.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back. So many damn missed opportunities. He was the king of them. The so-called man with a plan who couldn’t seem to keep it together long enough to make something happen for himself. She was his friend. A best friend. While he wasn’t Barton, he thought they still had something more. Maybe they could again…except there was Bucky.

The man in question returned to the patio, passing a bottle of water and a sandwich, before settling onto his lounge chair next to them with his own and his journals. “Thought you might want something better than the protein bar. This is the last of what Clint had in the bag.”

The sandwiches were stacked thick and heavy.

“We’ll need to find food for them in the morning then.” Clint and Natasha—well Clint at least—didn’t have their metabolism but he still needed to eat.

Buck nodded, opening one of the journals and skimming the pages. For a moment, the intentness of his expression took him back to when they were kids. Bucky threw himself into whatever he had to learn—accounting to help at the grocery, engineering because he liked to build things, and later, shooting because it turned out he had a hell of a knack for it.

Eating carefully, Steve devoured the sandwich, then washed it down with the water bottle. After he finished, he curved his arms around Nat again, but she didn’t stir—not even when he shifted his weight a fraction to ease her off his groin. Because the longer her ass pressed against him, the more uncomfortable it became and she didn’t need his erection poking her when she woke.

The rest of the night passed in quiet, Steve holding Nat while Bucky read. Though his best friend seemed focused on deciphering his own words, he checked on Nat repeatedly. A glance here, a quick look there, a long moment to study her while he drank water—then he would return to his book.

If she made even the slightest noise, or shifted, Buck flicked his gaze in her direction. The sun edged the horizon when Bucky set aside the last journal, his gaze contemplative as he stared out at the canal. Steve didn’t want the day to end, but the shuffle step from inside the house alerted him to Barton stirring. Next came the sound of water in the kitchen, then the hiss of a coffee maker, and finally the scent of coffee drifting out into the breeze.

Shifting in his seat, Bucky glanced behind them as Clint made his way out. Though he appeared a little rough around the edges, and his hair stood up in places, the archer appeared in better shape than when they arrived. He moved around the patio, his gaze taking in the whole scene from Nat sleeping to where she slept.

His arm hung stiff and he nodded to the house. “More coffee inside.”

Bucky shot a questioning glance at Steve. “You?”

“Water is fine.” Coffee sounded good, but he didn’t need to aggravate his bladder. As long as Natasha slept, Steve wasn’t budging an inch.

After Bucky went inside, Clint sipped his coffee and fixed Steve with an unreadable look. “That’s new.”

“Not really,” Steve replied, well aware of Clint’s protectiveness and respecting it. But he didn’t have full claim to Nat’s time or her affection. Nor did he get a say in what she did with hers. Resolve straightened within him.

“You planning on hurting her?” It was a quiet question, a solemn one and for a moment, Steve had to wonder—had Clint worked out all the ways to take Steve down? Or even Tony? Nat had told him once, she couldn’t walk into a room without determining the exits, who she needed to take down to get out of it, and the most efficient way to do it. Was Clint the same way?

“No,” Steve told him, not looking away from his gaze.

With a slow nod, Clint took another drink of his coffee before he eased onto one of the benches built along the patio railing. This time he skimmed his gaze over the waking city. Tiny lines fanned out at the corners of his eyes, even as the rising sunlight cast his face half in shadow. “Your friend going to hurt her again?”

“Not if I can help it,” Bucky returned in a voice as solemn as the one Clint delivered his question in. He had a bottle of water in hand, and mug of coffee in the other. He resumed his spot, but he didn’t lean back. Instead he stared steadily at Clint. “I’ll never do it again if I can help it.”

The archer must have found whatever he looked for in Buck’s gaze because he nodded and leaned against the railing with a grimace. “To be clear...this isn’t a warning.” He slid a look at Steve.“It’s a promise.”

Neither had to ask what he meant. 

“We need to change the dressing and check the wound,” Bucky told him, seemingly at ease with the clear threat Clint offered and Steve couldn’t blame him. Clint had Nat’s back when no one else had. He’d been there long before Steve, and he wasn’t going to surrender his position. 

No, Clint could judge them all he wanted, and protect her how he saw fit, but unless Nat told him to go—Steve wouldn’t move.

Not again.

“After coffee. Damn injuries always hurt worse the second day. But being shot is better than being stabbed.”

Buck seemed more at ease than ever. Maybe clear cut lines offered comfort. “Being shot is better than broken bones. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

“Depends on who did the shooting—and what they used.” Clint’s grin matched the ghost of a smile on Bucky’s face.

“Being shot with arrows really hurts,” Natasha mumbled, shifting against Steve. The stretch of her body against his had him going perfectly still, even as he ordered his body to not respond to the sinuous strength of her.

“You can break an arrow off, and get it out clean. You have to dig bullets out.” Apparently Bucky wasn’t done.

“Unless you didn’t get a clean shot with the arrow, then you have to dig it out too, and an arrowhead is larger than a bullet.” The corners of Clint’s lips twitched.

“You can push an arrow on through…can’t do that with a bullet. Knife can come out clean, unless you need it to keep the blood staunched. Then you have to move with it in there.” The former Soldier shrugged his shoulders.

“If the blade is sharp enough, you barely feel it. A bullet kicks like a mule no matter how small. Arrows give you the shock of the blow, and then enhance the pain.” Clint drained his cup, and motioned to his shoulder with a grimace. “It’s a gift that keeps on giving.”

“Oh, you big baby,” Natasha exhaled and cracked an eyelid open. “You know what hurts worse than all of that?”

“You without coffee?” Clint grinned. Wordlessly, Bucky held his mostly full mug to her immediately.

Steve’s chest shook as the surly expression on her face giving way to something happier as she pushed up from the blanket to take the mug. Then all of a sudden, she paused to blink at Steve.

“Good morning,” he said, enjoying the way awareness swept through her eyes. “Sleep well?”

Like a cat, she considered him then she took a long drink of Buck’s coffee. A little hot flare of jealousy stabbed at Steve that he hadn’t had a drink to give her, but her smirk chased it away.

“Not bad, Rogers. Not bad at all. Who knew you made a good bed?” The dip in her sleep drenched husky voice sent a shiver over him.

“Learn something new every day,” he said, not looking away. Hopefully she wouldn’t shift even another inch or she’d learn something about him. While he didn’t mind if she figured out the attraction part, he’d rather not do it with an audience.

“So it would seem.” Then she took another sip of the coffee before easing off his thigh to perch on the edge of the lounge chair. Her absence left him colder than he had been, but she didn’t rush away and he was able to stretch his legs. When his thigh brushed her hip, she bumped him gently—acknowledging he was there.

“When you two are done making sex eyes at each other,” Clint announced. “We need to discuss Azzano and how we’re going to do this.” The cold splash of reality struck as the sun crested over the buildings, flooding the patio with brightness.

Natasha had finished the cup, then blinked at Bucky with an almost plaintive expression. He didn’t roll his eyes, but Steve knew that look. He wanted to, yet all he did was take the empty mug and then jerk his head at Clint. “Let’s get refills and I’ll check your shoulder.”

“I can do that…” Nat started to say, but Bucky nudged her to stay seated as he stood, his nearness meant she’d have to climb him to stand.

“You can sit there and rest. Keep Steve company, and I’ll take care of your boyfriend.”

Steve groaned. “Bucky.”

“It’s a joke, Stevie. Lighten up.” Then he and Clint vanished inside, and Clint’s, “So, let me guess since you know a hundred different ways to kill people, you know at least that much about patching them up? Cause that’s what Nat says,” floated behind them.

“I know at least two hundred, and I usually don’t care about patching them up,” came Bucky’s dry response. “But how hard could it be?”

A yelp from Clint followed, but since it sounded more startled than pained, neither he nor Nat moved.

Tasha glanced at him, her lips twitching and the moment Steve’s gaze locked on hers, they started laughing. It loosened the knot of worry in his chest that she might pull away after she woke.

“You okay?” she asked, bumping his shoulder with hers.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back to him, and twisted to stretch sideways so he could spoon her carefully, just angling his hips back to keep his erection out of the equation. “I’m doing okay. How about you?”

“Been worse,” she agreed, and to his surprise she covered his arm with her own. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“I’m not,” he said, giving into the temptation to press his nose against her hair. It smelled of the club, sweat, gunpowder, and Natasha. The light illuminated all the gold highlights amidst the russet. Sometimes he wondered just how many shades of red he could find in her hair. The artist in him wanted to try and capture them all. “I’m glad you were able to rest, it’s been a hell of a few days for you.”

Hell, it hadn’t been that long since she’d been injured in Paris.

“I heal fast,” she assured him.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you getting hurt.”

“Steve,” she murmured with a note of warning.

“No,” he told her, and gave her a squeeze. He didn’t know how long Buck or Clint would be, but he wanted to clear the air on this. “I know exactly how capable you are. I know you can take care of yourself. I know you’ve had to for decades…” His stomach twisted. “I know you’re the best at having my back in a fight. Just because you can, and just because I respect it doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you. That I don’t want to be right there beside you, and help take the hits, so you don’t have to—it’s what we do, you and I. We look after each other.”

With a light hand, she traced her nails against the back of his hand. Her silence worried him though. If pressed to hard, Natasha would retaliate. Sometimes in unexpected ways. “Okay,” she said softly, and he nearly missed it even with his hearing.

Rising a little, he nudged her over so he could meet her gaze. “Okay?”

“Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” she reminded him, the soft phrase throwing him back to Peggy’s funeral when she came to support him.

Trailing his gaze over her, he memorized the way she didn’t shy from view or how soft her expression was in the early dawn light. Open, and vulnerable. Not a state she let herself linger in. “I didn’t want you to be alone either,” he told her. “You’re not alone. You know that, right?”

The corners of her mouth curved, and she pressed a palm to his cheek. “Don’t you start getting soft on me, Rogers.”

Turning his head, he kissed her palm and grinned slowly as he dipped his head toward her. “You know what Romanoff…?”

Laughter bubbled out of her as she pressed a finger to his lips. It was a gentle action, and her eyes heated. “I know a lot of things…like the fact I need to brush my teeth, and so do you.”

After scraping his teeth lightly over her fingertip, he rose from the lounger and brought her up with him. “Rain check?”

The ball was in her court, he couldn’t make it plainer unless he flat out said the words and he didn’t think she needed those. Based on the way she studied him, and her lips pursed, she understood him clearly.

Her tongue peeked out from between her teeth as she walked backwards slowly toward the sliding glass doors. Steve slid his hands into his pockets in an effort to not chase after her.

“Rain check,” she murmured with a teasing grin stretching her lips. “Definitely.”

Then she vanished inside. Steve grinned, and blew out a breath.

Yeah…he wasn’t going to wait to go after what he wanted.

Not anymore.

Turning back to face the canal, he looked at the bright colors of the buildings across the way, and listened to the hum of boats as the city roused further. Deeper inside the apartment, he could hear the husky murmur of her voice, followed by a yelp from Clint, and then more laughter.

“So…” The single syllable laden with unasked questions as Bucky came to stand next to him and offered him a cup of coffee while he took a sip from his own.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, taking the cup. Yes, he was interested in Natasha. Yes, he cared a great deal. Yes, he intended to pursue her and yes, he’d just let her know he wanted _more_. “I know you’re still trying to work out what she means to you.” It wasn’t an apology.

“I think I know what she means,” Bucky said quietly. “I think I’ve known for a long time. I just want to remember her, I want to remember the moments—even if it means remembering everything _else_.” He wasn’t apologizing either.

Steeling himself, Steve nodded. “I’m not going to back off Bucky.” A month before—hell maybe even a week, he might have entertained the notion. Bucky was his best friend, he wanted him to be happy. But Steve had made the stupid mistake of walking away from Natasha once, if she gave him this chance, no way in hell would he do it again.

“Neither am I,” Bucky told him solemnly. “I can’t.” He turned then, facing Steve and Steve met his gaze. “I won’t.”

The declaration might have bothered him if it had been anyone but Bucky. A part of him worried about the closeness he’d seen between Tony and Natasha. Those two had history as well, history from when before Steve met her. But he’d spent a long time in the ice, and she’d spent a long time alone. He wouldn’t begrudge her any opportunity.

“Okay.” Bucky didn’t need his permission, but he also didn’t deserve his rancor. “But we work together to keep her safe.”

A slow grin transformed Bucky’s blank expression. “Agreed.” Then he laughed softly.

“What?”

“Think she has a friend?” The question spun Steve back seventy years and he shook his head.

“I don’t want her friend. You?”

“Hell no,” Bucky exhaled.

With that settled, he took a long drink of the coffee. “As soon as she’s done showering, we plan Azzano.”

“Then figure out the next move.” Bucky nodded. “We take this operation apart piece by piece.” The unspoken person by person hung there, but Steve didn’t argue that. If Alexei or Ross or anyone else came for her, they’d deal with it. “Kind of like back in the day…only she’s a lot prettier than Dum-Dum.”

Steve laughed. Yes, she was.

She was everything.


	26. Try not to break anything while we fix this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes an uneasy discovery about the facility they are targeting. Clint doesn't want to sit the next part out. Nat, Steve, and Bucky press on toward their objective. 
> 
> *Note: Tati has been changed to Tanya, the correct diminutive for Tatiana. Other chapters have been updated accordingly.

Chapter Twenty-Six

_Try not to break anything while we fix this_

Bucky

 

 

After she showered, Natalia vanished into the city wearing a photo static veil and the promise she would be back with supplies, leaving him with Steve and Barton to plan their next steps. The region of the base at Azzano was a matter for debate. A town existed where Phillips had bivouacked his forces following the capture of the 107th. Steve’s memory pinpointed on the maps exactly where Hydra’s base had been, nestled in the mountains west of the town. The natural barrier providing extra fortifications for the then heavily armed based.

When Barton asked how Steve got in before, Steve grinned and said he’d jumped out of a plane flown by Howard Stark. Bucky shook his head. He didn’t remember much of his time there, so he couldn’t contribute much to the conversation except to cuff Steve lightly. The gentle blow earned him a rare, unadulterated grin from Steve. The reflexive move, borne from the knowledge Steve Rogers had no sense of self-preservation, had been the right one.

After a debate on satellite imagery versus easiest supply chain routes, Barton stated the base didn’t have to be accessible by land. Their targets could just as easily land in helicopters or quinjets. They weren’t certain it was Hydra, but the group was the top of the list.

“The best plan would be to parachute in, then cross overland. But we need to pinpoint the locations we’re going to search or we could be up there a long time.”

“Not we,” Steve told Barton. “Us. You’re injured. You sit this one out.”

The planning session all but ground to a halt as Barton argued with Steve. Bucky could have told him to give it up. Steve could be the most reasonable of guys until he dug his heels in. On this issue, he wouldn’t budge. Taking a wounded man into an uncertain situation against an unknown number of hostiles wouldn’t be safe for anyone.

Taking Natalia’s best friend, a man she clearly adored, into a dangerous situation when he was already hurt? Unacceptable. So, Bucky tuned out the argument and stared at the maps. Something niggled in the back of his mind about the terrain. Mountains, hidden valleys…ruins here and there. Some dated back more than a thousand years. The bombed out image of rubble and a single, lonely column stretching to the sky—a relic of man’s history the single survivor of a modern war.

Aqueducts.

The Soldier tapped the map to the north of where Steve marked as the old Hydra base. Tracing his finger along the curve of the mountain then down the center of the range and up…Paulo—Operative 1154356, designation technician, primary build for prosthetic replacement for lost arm. Successful neural implementation. Operative terminated on day of success.

With the Solder’s newly installed metal hand around his throat.

Images stuttered out like newsreel, as if the Soldier searched to verify the data. All Bucky could see were passages bored through the mountain to clear a path for the aqueducts. The chain of them carried water to the Tuscan fields in the south—where wineries flourished.

Skimming slightly north, he fixed on a position nestled between two mountains. One road narrowed through the pass, creating a perfect choke point. All other land approaches would require traversing the mountain or cutting through the aqueducts. Underground monitoring was nearly nonexistent, a flaw in their security program. They believed the aqueducts to be lost to history, so why waste resources?

The mountains themselves would require a series of brutal climbs and descents. No direct path. Possible, but unlikely for a large force, so physical security would be most likely concentrated at the pass. Electronic surveillance most likely for the more remote access points, though he doubted they created full coverage—the amount of equipment and maintenance would be an unwieldy burden on an operations budget.

“We’re going to need extraction at some point,” Steve said, their conversation penetrating the Soldier’s focused haze. “You can handle the quinjet, and pick us up once we clear the facility.”

“That’s if you can find it, and if you can get in, and if you can get out afterward…that’s a lot of ifs.” Barton’s protests turned tactical, but his fierce frown and flushed cheeks declared his dislike. Sweat dotted his brow and he held his arm awkwardly. The man was in more pain than he was willing to admit.

“The base is here,” the Soldier told them. “Three possible points of ingress, underground, over mountain, and road. The road will be guarded if the facility is in use. It’s a chokepoint.”

He had the captain’s full attention and Steve bent over to stare at the map. “You sure, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately as the Soldier verified his recollections. Finally, Bucky let out a slow breath, trying to divorce himself from the cold realization of what that place meant to him, and met Steve’s gaze. “They installed one version of my arm there. I don’t know who is running the operation now, but when I was there, the base occupied this pocket snug between the mountains, with the terrain as a natural barrier. You can’t just drop in from the air because they’d see you coming, so you have to drop here or here…” He pointed to the other side of the mountains. “Then cross over on foot. The aqueducts might be easier to traverse _if_ they are still in good repair.”

His mouth dry, Bucky let out a shuddering breath. Steve eyed him, but it was Barton who gripped his right shoulder.

“You good, man?”

“I think so,” Bucky said after a long moment. “Didn’t know I knew that until I looked at the map.”

“You good?” Barton repeated, the contact grounding Bucky. Despite the earlier harshness in Barton's argument with Steve over whether the archer would go on the mission or not, the man’s voice was calm, steady and lacking any kind of expectation—unlike the owner of the worried blue eyes staring at him across the table.

“I will be,” Bucky said, falling back on old habits to inject more confidence than he experienced. “Good to know I’ve been there before we got there though.”

Though he seemed unconvinced, Barton nodded. Then he stared at the map for a beat, then at Steve. “Tough to get in, means tough to get out. I can get the quinjet in there for a pickup, but if they have any kind of anti-aircraft, it could make for a short ride.”

Steve nodded, his expression turning grim. “We’ll make it work.”

The plan to _make it work_ meant risking Natalia without a clear extraction. Folding his arms, the Soldier considered their current supplies and armaments. “If we bring the quinjet in low along these slopes, we can make the jump.” He could land a several stories drop, and Captain America was more than capable. “Weapons, explosives, rope, and cold weather gear to stake a spot on the mountain over night. ”

“That’s what, six—eight miles from here to here,” Steve marked the spots with two different fingers.

“Longer if you’ve got no clear path,” Barton supplied. “If you have to rappel or climb, it will add time to the clock.”

“Two hours,” Bucky estimated. “If we push hard. If we carry gear, maybe three hours from point to point. Four would be safer to factor in climbs.” Natalia was sure footed, and strong, but she was smaller than he or Steve. She had also proven to be more susceptible to the cold. Even if they lightened her physical load by carrying more gear, this would be a tough course in fair conditions.

The mountains already had the kiss of snow on them.

“Tac gear,” Barton said. “You’re not going to want to take time to change. It’ll be warmer for Nat, too.” He pursed his lips, frowning. “That’s a lot of work if we’re wrong.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then said, “We’re not wrong.” His confidence buoyed Bucky, and deja vu split the moment. How many times had they made plans over similar maps back in the war? Then Steve straightened and glanced at his wrist.

Natalia had been gone for two hours, fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds. She had not called.

“We should get into position on the lee side of the mountain, near the edge of the base before full dark. Hunker down there for a few hours, take the base around three in the morning.” Security was sloppier at night, tired as it waned toward end of the graveyard shift, and less likely to rouse if they struck hard and fast.

“Then food, gear, and weapons check.” Barton said, as he straightened with a grimace. The shoulder bothered him more than he wanted to confess. It had been red, and puffy when Bucky checked the very neat row of stitches Natalia had given him. Hot to the touch. He’d told Barton, but the man waved it off—so Bucky told Natalia when she emerged from her shower. She’d given her partner a narrow eyed look, murmured her thanks to Bucky with a quick smile, and then promptly left.

The flash of a grin had buoyed him. More because she hadn’t given that same smile to Steve.

Of course, she’d slept against Steve all night—trusting him with her vulnerabilities. Bucky had not earned that yet. He would.

“There’s nothing to eat,” Bucky said, as he straightened. “You did not have canned goods in stock.” When he made the sandwiches the night before, he’d used the last of any food stuffs they had. They had all made do with coffee this morning.

“We’ve got protein bars on the quinjet,” Steve said. “I can run up there and get them.”

“Maybe not in the middle of the morning, Cap.” Barton said, with a shake of his head. “It’ll be real noticeable if you disappear in thin air. I’ll live.” Though he took a seat on one of the heavier purple chairs in the sitting room off the dining area. His color was a grayer than healthy.

“You should rest,” Steve told him, managing to not rub in the fact he’d been right about Barton not being up for the mission. The archer’s only reply was a middle finger, which made Steve laugh.

Barton wasn’t a bad guy. He seemed worth getting to know, but the archer had definite reservations about Bucky. Winning his respect might be possible given enough time. In the kitchen, Bucky dug out ice from the freezer and filled a plastic bag with it until it made a solid ice pack. After sealing it, he returned to where Barton rested and placed the ice pack over his shoulder.

The man hissed out a breath through his teeth. “Ten points to Slytherin for the thought.” The tightness in his expression eased a little as he adjusted the ice pack. The flesh of his arm had reddened down to mid-biceps. His wound had infected.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky told him. “But you’re welcome. You need to elevate your feet and take something for the fever.” He didn’t have to lean close to see the over brightness in his eyes.

It was Bucky’s turn to get a middle finger.

“You know, I’m beginning to think your bedside manner is actually worse than Nat’s. At least she offers me liquor when she slaps something cold on something painful.”

“She cares about your pain,” Bucky told him seriously, then quirked a half-smile. “I only care that you live. You need to fly the quinjet and Natalia needs to be able to focus.”

Steve’s choked laughter congratulated him and Barton added a second middle finger to the first.

“Asshole.” The archer grumbled.

The bump of a boat against the dock, the slap of displaced water, and the rustle of a rope toss had him pivoting. Steve a half step behind him as they checked the dock from the angle of the second floor patio window. A colorful scarf hid most of her red hair from view, but the woman who stepped out of the boat and began offloading some crates moved like Natalia.

Wordless, he and Steve both turned for the stairs to give her a hand. He flicked a glance over her, finding no signs of injuries or distress, even if he didn’t care for the electronic face she wore. It amused him when he caught Steve doing exactly as he was. He doubted Natalia would find it half as entertaining.

Inside, she pulled the scarf off her hair, before deactivating and peeling off the photo static mask. “Food. Supplies. Some extra tactical gear. Parachutes. A little of this and a little of that.” She tapped each crate as she passed them, stopping at the last. “Restock for medical supplies.” From that one she withdrew a vial and a syringe. She drew up a shot, then turned toward Barton.

“Hey now…” He eyed her. “Watch where you point that thing.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” she told him flatly. “Your choice, but we’re doing it.”

Bucky considered what Clint said earlier about his bedside manner.

“I’m fine, Tash. I don’t need…” Before he could even finish his protest, she’d crossed the room and climbed his chair, pinned his arms with her knees and slid the shot right into his good arm.

“Son of a fucki—” He bit off the swear word and glared at her.

With a beatific smile, Natalia patted his cheek as she hopped off. “I think you’re sweet too. That’s a broad spectrum, powerful antibiotic. I’ll draw up two more, and store them in the fridge. You need to hit yourself with it once a day.”

His baleful look made no promises.

“It’s that or I open the stitches, debride the wound and flush it out.” Yes, Bucky could definitely see the resemblance in bedside manner. Though he would argue against Natalia’s being kinder. “And to make it up to you,” she announced after she bounced back over to the crates, where she tugged out a white bag smelling of fried sweetness and then presented it to Barton.

A hint of a smile softened his harsh expression before he wiped it away. “Struffoli,” he sniffed, then opened the bag as though doubtful in his inspection. “I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Generous,” she said with a wink, her mood considerably lighter than it had been the day previous. Bucky felt another smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. She was definitely something else. What he'd said to Steve was true, he felt  _better_ when she was there, calmer. Bad things happened when he couldn't see her, and that sensation wouldn't go away. 

Once they got everything unpacked or set aside to be loaded onto the quinjet, they returned to the table and filled her in on the plan while devouring something Natalia called a brunch torte—it was still warm in the box and had tomatoes, greens, some kind of meat, and cheeses. It reminded him of a stacked omelet.

At his curious look, Natalia ate a forkful, before she offered a second one to him. He tested the flavors on his tongue, then nodded. He could eat that. After she passed him the plate she’d made, she dished out more.

She ate two pieces. Clint tolerated one, though he seemed more interested in the fritters. Steve demolished a full one on his own, and Bucky finished the rest of Natalia’s box. They were on a fresh round of coffee when Natalia said, “What if they have hostages?”

Steve frowned. “You think they might?”

“Tanya said it’s a gateway, which argues that some of the human cargo from London may have made it this far before they send them on to Russia.” Despite the well-schooled calmness in her expression, pain flickered around the edges. The concept was repugnant enough at face value. Bucky may not be able to clearly recall all his time in the camp with 107th, but he remembered the cold metal table, the fever, and the injections as Zola watched him with some kind of disturbing glee.

“We cannot take her information on face value,” Bucky answered bluntly. “That does not mean we shouldn't look for them.”

“A rescue operation is a lot bigger than four people,” Clint said with a sigh. “Times like this make me miss SHIELD.”

“We’ve done it with fewer people and less resources,” Natalia replied, but her gaze was firmly on Steve. “If there’s even one unwilling person there, we can’t leave them.”

“No,” Steve agreed with her. “We can’t. But if we’re worried about a lot hostages, we may want to call in Sam and maybe Wanda.”

Before Bucky could object, Natalia shook her head. “No. This doesn’t leave this circle. I already thought about calling Tony. But we can’t—because he _would_ come and that would put him at risk for the Accords. We know going into these things we may not come out—Wanda’s still too unstable as a resource. It could go really wrong. And Sam…”

She hesitated on the last, and it struck Bucky as odd. Natalia didn’t pull her punches, yet she seemed to be reconsidering this one. For Steve, maybe? Because she cared what he thought? Or she cared how he felt?

Uncertain of what to do with that realization, he tucked it away.

“Sam’s not enhanced,” Barton tossed in there. “Even with the wings, he’s just an airman. A talented one, but still only human.”

“And we’re on a clock,” Natalia finished. “Even if we could get them here, explain the stakes and lay out the mission, we’re adding another few days of potential discovery. Venice isn’t a chalet in Switzerland or even a safe house outside of Prague. This place is much more visible.”

“Fine.” Steve conceded, after another long gaze at Nat. “We stick with the original plan, and we deal with any hostages when and if we find them.” He checked his watch again. “We’re wheels up in four hours.”

Decided, Natalia ushered Barton back to one of the bedrooms for rest. When she didn’t emerge, Buck settled in the ugly as hell purple chair Clint had occupied. It gave him the best vantage points for the hallway where she was and the patio where someone could enter. Steve sprawled on the short sofa, one foot braced on the floor and one arm behind his head.

They didn’t talk, but Bucky managed a doze trusting his internal clock to rouse him when needed.

Less than five hours later, Natalia flew them toward the mountain where they would make their jump. Clint sat in the co-pilot’s seat, but his color was better. Steve watched the pair intently, and took his cues from Natalia. She didn’t appear concerned, though she’d been very stern in her detailed description of the steps Clint needed to take. He would return to the apartment. He assured her he could park the jet in place, likely better than her and would she like to tell him how to breathe in and out? She smirked and said, if he kept acting like he needed a mental recalibration, she’d give him one. Their middle fingers went up at almost the same time.

It was charming.

In twenty-four hours, Barton would return to the drop point and wait for their call for extraction. They would be in an operational blackout until then. Steve and Bucky wore their respective tactical suits, though Steve had made a point to cut out the star on the chest of his. When he caught Bucky looking, he didn’t explain and Buck didn’t ask. When he was ready, Stevie could tell him.

They had coats to wear over their suits, Steve had his shield strapped to his back. Buck had the SAW and Savage from Natalia’s locker along with a handgun. Her dry expression had pulled another smile from him when she said, “I draw the line at sharing my makeup and don’t even think about eyeing anything in my closet.”

His smirk felt good, but she rolled her eyes and checked the magazines on her glocks. She secured them in their thigh holsters. Her belt had a full series of pouches, and she stored some extra magazines in those. Two knives, one in each boot, with a third, smaller knife hidden in the belt itself, but it was the wrist bands and gloves she pulled on, then lit up blue to check that grabbed his interest. He felt like he should know what they were called, he recognized them as a dangerous weapon—one that could affect even Steve.

Good, he wanted her well armed.

While his and Steve’s suits added to their bulk, the overlays of Kevlar and armor offering some protection against bullets, Natalia’s looked like she’d been poured into hers. The skintight black cat suit had startled him when she first walked out wearing it.

He didn’t know where to let his gaze linger—the swell of her hips, the length of her muscled legs or the soft curve of her breasts. When Steve tossed her a bulletproof vest, she’d given him a dirty look. He just stared right back at her. “Put it on or stay on the jet.”

Apparently she believed him, so she shrugged into it and secured it into place. If anything, the addition of body armor just made her that much sexier. Finally she had her coat on and her pack in one hand.

“We’re in position,” Barton called over his shoulder. “Don’t get dead.” But his gaze went from Natalia to Bucky, then finally Steve. His meaning crystal—protect Natalia.

Since Bucky intended to anyway, he merely nodded and Steve did the same. Then the hatch opened. They hovered approximately 30 meters above a clearing the rugged, tree lined terrain.

Taking Natalia’s pack, he nodded to Steve, who wrapped an arm around her waist as she curled up to his side, locking her legs around his waist.

“Too late to think about doing this with parachutes?” she asked, but Steve only grinned and said, “Trust me,” before he leaped. Buck followed only a heart beat behind.

Despite his dislike of heights, the fall wasn’t so bad. The landing jarred him, and he had to tumble forward once, then locked his metal hand down to stabilize himself.

Steve landed in a crouch, his whole body absorbing the shock. By the time Bucky rose to his feet, Steve straightened and then set Natalia on hers.

“See, it’s not so bad,” he told her, his grin wide and infectious.

Natalia flicked him on the nose, and it took all of Bucky’s restraint not to laugh. “You and I have very different ideas of not so bad.” Then she took a couple of shaky steps before holding out her hand for her pack. Bucky passed it over, keeping an eye on her while trying not look like he was. It took her a few more steps to steady out. Was it the height or the lack of control she feared?

“You good?” Steve fell into step beside her and Bucky scanned the area as he trailed behind.

“Yeah,” she admitted with the hint of a low laugh. “I might heal fast, but that’s a lot of bones I’d break.” Then she glanced over her shoulder at him, and Bucky found a small smile for her even as the Soldier nudged at him. This was a mission, and her safety was in their hands. The Soldier wanted to be on point, not lingering behind.

“That’s why you have us doll,” he told her, and grinned at her rolled eyes. “You can do plenty that we can’t.”

“Like understanding the value of parachutes,” she tossed over her shoulder. Steve was letting her set the pace and it only took Buck a moment to realize why. Her legs were shorter than theirs, if they set the pace, she’d have to double time to keep up. Better to take a longer time, than to wear her out.

Natalia consulted her compass periodically, but she moved unerringly in the correct direction. Neither Steve nor Natalia seem to feel the need to talk. The Soldier preferred quiet, though Bucky wouldn’t mind cracking a joke or two if only to hear her laugh. It didn't feel like the right time though and his view of her moving ahead as she climbed was definitely worth it.

Steve caught him staring more than once and Bucky just shook his head. Sometimes his friend forgot that admiring a woman didn’t mean he was disrespecting her. They'd both admitted their interest and neither planned to back off. He wouldn't begrudge Steve his need to be close, and it didn't seem Steve begrudged him his, even if he kept a watchful eye. Bucky's feelings toward Natalia were complicated, but the steady growing stiffness in his groin told him the attraction wasn’t complicated at all.

How long had it been since he’d even gotten an erection? Not Bucharest, if anything, he’d found himself admiring a handful of women but developing not even a hint of interest.

The first stirring had been in the gym when he’d watched Natalia take down Steve. His whole body had shivered then, but he hadn’t been able to identify the too tight within his own skin feeling. On the patio, while she slept against Steve, all he’d experienced was warmth being near her.

Following her to the first cliff they would have to descend, his body vibrated with awareness. When Natalia pulled out the climbing gear drove a hook into the wall and Steve followed her example, the Soldier steadied his hands and prepared to echo their actions.

“Watch our backs?” Natalia asked him. He nodded, shifting the sniper rifle from his back, and checking the field below before settling into position. No one would come at them while they dangled two hundred feet up.

They rappelled swiftly, with Steve keeping pace with her, and only slightly below. Bucky recognized the maneuver, if she slipped, Steve would be close enough to leap and catch her. It was a solid plan.

As soon as they were secure on the ground, she gave him a thumbs up. Bucky used Steve’s line to rappel down, trusting they would watch his back as he had theirs. They would leave the ropes in place. If they had to leave the way they came in, it would save them time.

The next hour passed much the same as the last; they hiked for a couple of miles and rappelled down another rocky face. The mountain was unforgiving, the air too cool for comfort but not quite cold enough to worry about extremities. The sun, however, was unrelenting. By the time they paused for a break and to eat the dry, tasteless protein rations, Natalia’s nose and cheeks were reddening.

A mental checklist of their supplies told him they had not included sunscreen. The sounds of birds, and the occasional squirrel kept him calm. They weren’t disturbing the wild life, and the wild life wasn’t going quiet.

“Gonna borrow a tree boys, be good.” Then she was up and headed toward the tree line to their east.

Bucky rose to his feet, but Steve held up a hand. “She’s answering nature’s call, Buck. We might as well do the same while she’s over there.”

Unconvinced, he clenched a fist when her red hair vanished into the trees.

“Listen,” Steve said, gripping his shoulder.

Frowning, he strained but it was the Soldier who relaxed and let the sounds wash over him. The crunch of her steps on pine needles, not even trying to hide her passage, accompanied the faint under her breath whistling.

“Hear her?” Steve asked.

With a nod, Bucky glanced at Steve. “She’s whistling, low.”

“Just so I can hear her. If it stops then we know she’s in trouble.” A solid plan. Steve squeezed his shoulder. While he would still prefer to see her, he kept an ear out while Steve moved a few feet away to empty his bladder. When he finished, Bucky left him listening while he did the same.

He’d tucked everything back in just as her whistling grew closer, and he turned in time to find her sauntering toward them. “We might want to move a little faster on this next leg.”

As if to underscore her point, she waved a hand to the west. While the sun shone over them, dark clouds gathered behind them.

“I’m really tired of always getting cold weather gigs. Why can’t super villains have tropical island hide outs?”

She bumped Steve as she passed him, then did the same to Bucky and he grinned. The inclusion felt purposeful, and he worried about the wariness in her eyes when she looked at him. It was understandable, but he wanted to find a way to make up for the harm he’d caused her.

“I don’t know, I think you swimming out of the surf wearing a bikini with a knife strapped to your calf would be way too distracting to get any work done.” Steve’s comment pulled a soft laugh from her, and Bucky envied how simple Steve made it look. Wasn’t Steve the awkward one? Didn’t Bucky have that kind of charm, once upon a time? Couldn’t he make a girl smile and her eyes light up?

It seemed a million years before and another lifetime. For the moment, he tucked aside the mental image of Natalia in a bikini to examine later and in great detail.

Steve took over setting the pace, agreeing with Natalia’s assessment. If necessary, Bucky could carry her to save her stamina. He pocketed the offer, but kept an eye on her gait even as he kept watch on their surroundings.

The next two rappels were challenging even for he and Steve. The eight hundred foot one they hadn’t planned on. But Natalia eyed the distance, and the fact they couldn’t see the bottom and changed the plan. “One at a time. I’ll go first and secure pegs and the line. We can’t do a direct rappel. Too much sway.”

With a frown, the Soldier shook his head and held out his metal hand. “Give me the rope. I can make the descent faster, and I can push the pegs in.” The storm closed in on them, the temperatures already beginning to plummet. Natalia wasn’t wearing enough warm weather gear to protect her face or ears.

She gazed at him for the space of a few heartbeats, then nodded. “Okay, fair deal. Be careful. Comms when you’re on the ground.”

He did not need to be careful. But he nodded to appease her. Shouldering the rope, he set the first peg into the ground and secured it, then tossed the first length down. Many missions required absolute flexibility and maneuverability. He’d once scaled a sea wall to an ocean cliff home to take out a dissident creating trouble for Moscow. He’d managed it without rope.

But Natalia needed a way down as did Steve. The distance was enough that even the Soldier doubted either he or Steve could land without injury, much less her. Every twenty-five feet or so, he sank a new peg and hooked the rope on before dropping again, and he moved at an angle. The sheer drop where they started offered no outcroppings, but the farther he moved over, the better the terrain for climbing. By the time he reached the halfway mark, his right arm burned but he had secured several lines and began the second. They would have no rope left after this.

It took a tense thirty minutes from when he started to when Natalia, and then Steve could begin their descents. He might have gone faster, but he wanted those lines to hold for the precious weight they would be supporting as the wind gusts grew stronger.

While he split his attention between watching the lines, he did a quick scout. They were much closer to the base than he surmised. Another mile, maybe less. They could camp for the night down here as they would be losing the light soon anyway.

Once Natalia made it to the ground he would let her handle watch for the Captain while the Soldier found them shelter. When he caught sight of her, he touched his comms. “I’ve got Natalia in sight, start down Steve.”

He clocked Steve’s acknowledgement, already cycling though what they would require for the best shelter. The plan was to hit the base in the dark hours of morning when those awake would be slowed by fatigue. Their success would be better served if they themselves were rested.

Natalia leapt the last few feet and blew out her breath when she reached the ground. “Okay, that’s a bad idea for an exit.”

He didn’t disagree. “We will find another way.”

“Yeah,” she panted, bending over a moment and grasping her thighs as she sucked in slower and deeper breaths.

Narrowing his gaze, he frowned. “Are you well?”

“Just winded. I haven’t been logging a lot of time rock climbing in the last few months.”

“You are secure to keep watch? I want to find a place to camp.” Worry niggled at him until she straightened. Sweat gave her sunburned and chapped face a sheen, but her eyes sparkled.

“I got it.” Then she glanced at the storm. “Maybe a cave? If you can find one.”

“Agreed, I will travel no more than a mile north, then double back.”

“Stay on comms,” she told him, her expression intent. The Soldier bristled, but Bucky recognized the need to stay in touch as way to know they could come to his aid if he so required it.

The Soldier rarely required aid, but he appreciated Natalia’s desire to do so should he need it.

With a nod, he set off at a slow run. Unencumbered by having to guard his pace, he could cover ground swifter. A half-mile away, he spotted some ruins. Closing to investigate, he ignored the tumbled columns and crumbling walls. Whatever building or temple it had been once, it had lost its war against time. But it was the depression in the rock wall where the building had abutted the mountain holding his interest. The depression would only allow him to slide in sideways and it was a tight fit. Natalia would fit easily enough, he and Steve might get a few scrapes.

Once inside, he studied the gradually widening cave—though twenty-five feet in, and the cave turned into a kind of corridor. Man didn’t carve this, though they might have smoothed it along the way. It resembled a place where water may have passed through.

The lack of dampness or mold scents suggested whatever runoff it had been, it was no longer. No sounds traced along the walls, only the faintness of the wind beyond the crevice where he entered. Another twenty feet and the space narrowed, and he had to duck to keep pressing forward.

Finding no animal scat, carcasses, or other signs of habitation, Bucky grinned and retreated for the entrance. The narrow space meant they could probably build a fire, and not worry about it being seen or guttered by the wind. It also meant they would essentially be blind to everything happening outside of the cave.

It was a tradeoff.

Slipping out, he touched his comms unit. “I’ve got a spot, good coverage, out of the wind. A half-mile north.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said, though he sounded like he was still climbing. “Grab some wood if you can. Natasha can meet you and get out of the wind.” It had definitely picked up.

“I’m good right where I am Rogers, I’ll move when you’re down here. Barnes, you good with finding wood there or need to wait for us to catch up?”

Bucky skimmed the area. There were trees, not as many as where they’d dropped in. “I’ve got it. When you come north, look for the ruins right against the rock face.”

“Copy.”

Then she quieted again. The increased wind dragged at his hair and left the tips of his ears burning. He found some scattered wood, but not enough. Like the night before—had it really only been the day before they’d been in Prague? The travel had begun to bleed together. He used his left arm to take down smaller trees, a swift blow where they were weaker. The first one he hit, he paused after. The wind carried away the sound, so he risked it.

Three small trees later, he dragged them back to the crevice. Then jogged back for the third. By the time he got it to the crevice, Steve and Natalia were in sight. Natalia’s grin at the trees themselves warmed him all the way to his toes.

“An overachiever,” she said with a wink. “I like that.”

Steve laughed. “He’s a show off, but a good one.” Then he helped as Bucky broke the trees down further. The clouds had finally overtaken them, and turned the sky an inky dark. Even the sun had abandoned them as an early night fell. The cold scent on the air was snow, hopefully a blustery storm and not one intending to pound them as they had been in Switzerland.

They did not have three days to linger in the cave, no matter how dry they would be. Working together, all three of them got the wood loaded inside before the first flakes began to fall.

Twenty minutes later, Natalia had a fire going and she’d pulled out the makeshift bedrolls they planned to use. “I don’t think we’ll need the tent,” she said. “Not in here, unless we start getting some wind through the tunnel.” She’d glanced behind where the cave tapered off into darkness. “How far back does it go?”

“More than fifty feet,” Bucky answered, going over his gear and doing a weapon’s check. He couldn’t relax until he’d verified everything. Steve had pulled out more of the dried bars. They weren’t the worst things he’d ever eaten, but he found himself actually missing the brunch torte. The freedom to eat whatever he wanted had given him a taste for new foods with savory or sweet flavors.

The mission, however, required they put up with it.

Though she sipped water, Natalia was also going through her weapons. She checked both her guns, then her wrist bracers. She’d removed them for the climbs. He’d only noticed on the second one the time she took to store them and always put them back on once they were on the ground.

Steve set his shield within arm’s reach, and stacked their packs together. He redistributed the weight between the three now that they used up most of the lines of rope they’d been carrying.

It didn’t take long until they were simply sitting around the fire, eating the lackluster protein bars and listening to the wind.

“A little over nine hours until we’re going to move on the base,” Natalia said as she set a knife within easy reach of her bedroll along with the glocks. Though she left her holsters on. If she were lying down, it would be easier to have them right at hand rather than having to draw them.

“Should have brought some cards,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“Been a while since I played poker,” Bucky admitted. “Been a while since I played any card games.”

“Best time to play you then,” Steve told him seriously, then grinned. “Before you remember what a card shark you were.”

A memory joke. From Steve.

He stared at him in wonder, and he wasn’t alone, even Natalia had a raised eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with Steve?” she challenged, though humor punctuated the question.

Bucky would bet a week’s pay—if he were getting pay—Steve blushed even if it wasn’t all that visible with only the golden light from the fire. The man in question, however, shrugged. “I think we’ve all had enough kicks in the teeth lately, a little laughter now and then can’t hurt.”

He had a point. “Depends.” Bucky told him soberly.

“On?” A hint of worry creased his brow. Steve never had a poker face. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and every Tom, Dick, and Bully had always been trying to knock it off. Bucky spent more time pulling him out of scrapes than he had getting into his own.

“How much you planned on getting me to bet…could be downright painful.” At Steve’s laugh, he grinned. “Course I’m broke.”

“You’re not alone,” Steve stretched out on his bedroll, and slanted a look towards Natalia, but she sat cross-legged on her own, her gaze on the fire but clearly listening to them. “I had some money in the bank, but I’m pretty sure it’s all frozen. Back pay was nice and SHIELD paid for a lot of stuff, but then Tony covered expenses so I didn’t end up using my own money. Guess I won’t now.” His expression twisted thoughtfully.

“We might have to find work,” Bucky scratched at the stubble on his chin. If they had access to fresh water, he’d shave. For now, the scruff would have to do. Steve nearly had the makings of a full beard, but it was still neat. “I did that in Bucharest, odd jobs. Could probably do that somewhere else once we finish this.”

“I haven’t had a job since ‘42,” Steve admitted with a grimace.

“I don’t think chorus girl counts as a job, Stevie.” Buck couldn’t resist his smirk, especially when Natalia laughed.

“I wasn’t talking about the war bonds,” his best friend grumbled and glared at him. “I meant the factory.”

“Yeah, you hated the factory. You could have made a career out of applying to the army though.” An all of a sudden it was there, the look on Steve’s face in the alley when he argued with Bucky about wanting to do his part. “You even went all the way to Jersey.” Disgust rolled through his accent. “Jersey, Steve.”

The grin on Steve’s face spread wider. “It was only Paramus and they still turned me down.”

“Good, cause if you’d gotten into a division from Jersey, I’d have had to disown you.”

Natalia was laughing again, and the sound dragged their attention. But she waved her hands. “No no, you two go right ahead. This is far too entertaining.”

Happy enough with her response, he studied Steve.

“What?” his friend asked.

“Just…you used to run deliveries for Kent’s?” The name was what he wasn’t sure of. He could see it, a corner store with a green sign and always something cheerful in the window.

“Yeah, he gave me discounts on the pharmacy if I took half pay to do the deliveries. It was easy work…most of the time and saved Ma money.”

His mother. Sarah. “She was a nurse.” Then his smile sobered. Steve had barely turned eighteen when they had the funeral for her. Buck’s mother and family had stepped up. They all wanted Steve to come live with them, worried about him all alone. But Steve didn’t want to…

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled. “Your ma was a teacher, she worked at the fancy school in midtown.”

“Good pay,” Bucky recalled. “Long hours.” So he always had to look after his sisters. Nostalgia gripped him, and he scowled.

“I’m sorry not everything you remember is good,” Steve told him honestly. “Hardest part of waking up was realizing stuff that felt like last year—was last year for me—happened decades ago. The world moved on. I didn’t.”

Natalia had pulled out a comb and had begun to work it through her hair, her gaze quietly darting back and forth between them.

No, not all memories were going to be good. Even the fragments he’d put together included a lot of blood, mayhem, and death. Gaze lingering on Natalia, he sighed. Then there were the memories he really wanted, and they remained elusive.

“Want to borrow the comb?” she asked as if offering him an excuse for staring.

He shook his head. “More likely to break it,” he told her, holding up his metal hand. “Still not good at taking care of this.” He washed his hair, shoved it back from his face and left it.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “Ever think about cutting it?”

“Not ready yet.” Oddly, the answer was true. He hadn’t really thought about it before.

“Want me to comb it?” The offer startled him. “It’s a bit of a mess and you’ve got twigs in it.”

He eyed her for a moment. She would be standing or at least kneeling behind him to do his hair. A comb wasn’t a weapon—anything could be a weapon. It was Natalia.

The Soldier nodded, and Bucky gave her a weak grin. “You can, you don’t have to.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know I don’t have to. Go back to teasing each other about the old days and what a brat Steve was. I liked those stories.”

“You know what Romanoff…” Steve said, but he grinned.

“No, Rogers I don’t,” she retaliated and stuck her tongue at him. “That’s why I want Barnes to tell me.”

She touched her fingers to his right shoulder once she’d settled behind him. “I’m going to start here.” He appreciated the warning and he went still as she began to work the comb through his hair.

He really didn’t care what it looked like. But he did care that she was touching his hair. His gaze locked with Steve across the fire and his best friend shook his head, hints of amusement and exasperation in his smile. Bucky grinned. “So do you want to hear about the time Annie Ryan gave Steve a kiss or when her brother Johnny decided to beat him up for it?”

“He didn’t punch me because Annie kissed me,” Steve protested. “He punched me because I called him out for being a jerk.”

“Yeah, sorry pal, that’s not how I remember it…”

The wind howled, the fire crackled, and Steve laughed, while Natalia combed his hair and Bucky enjoyed a few memories—and his present.

Not a bad way to spend the night even if they were all heavily armed and waiting to go into a fight.

Not bad at all.


	27. Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raid on the Azzano facility tears open old wounds, and reveals a new enemy.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

_Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature._

Natasha

 

 

If either of the guys had slept, Natasha would be surprised. They were both awake when Cap roused her with a gentle touch to her cheek. By unspoken decision, they’d all moved and spoken quietly, if at all. She choked down another protein bar more for the fuel than the flavor, and gulped down most a bottle of water, before using a finger to do a sketchy brush of her teeth. Leaving the guys to the banked fire, she turned on a small flashlight and navigated back into the cave to find a spot to relieve herself. With every step of the simple routine, she amped up. A mile to cover in the cold dark— _please don’t be snowing—_ then assess the base and go pay them a visit.

She took the private moment to pack away all the discordant feelings the last few days had aroused from London to Paris to reconnecting with Tony, having it out with Clint, fighting with Steve about his decisions, Tanya, Alexei—she shuddered—Clint being hurt and finally falling asleep on Steve. Somehow, he’d worked his way right back beneath her carefully crafted defenses.

They all had.

Even Barnes, though she couldn’t figure out what to do with him.

Steve had telegraphed his intention to kiss her so clearly, she couldn’t mistake it for anything else. A part of her thrilled, but the rest of her? No…she exhaled a breath and straightened. Not now. She couldn’t process any of it right now. There was no time to sort it out. Mission first.

If she survived it all at the end…then she’d figure it out.

Back at the fireside, she found they’d bundled up her bedroll along with their own. Barnes stood holding her glocks, she’d already sheathed her knife in her boot. She went over each gun by touch, before slotting them back into her holsters. Steve had all of his gear on and his shield leaned against the wall next to him.

“Comm check,” she murmured, then touched the device behind her ear.

“Check,” Barnes murmured on the heels of Steve’s “Check.”

“Anyone check the conditions?” She glanced from one to the other. The fire was mostly embers, and she lingered next to it as she slid on her bites and gloves, then checked the charge. Solid blue.

 _Thank you, Tony_. They’d flickered slightly before, so his repairs had been needed.

“Snowing,” Barnes said with almost an air of resignation.

Leaning her head back, Natasha closed her eyes and counted to ten. Fucking snow. Steeling herself, she lowered her chin and looked at them.

For the last few years, it had been Steve she followed and teams she’d worked with—at SHIELD and alongside the Avengers. In the last few months, she’d reacquainted herself with flying solo. Adapting and fitting into what she needed for any given situation. Today, however, would mark the first time she worked _with_ Barnes in the equation. The concept bothered her less than it might. Maybe even less than it should. The day before, he’d been an ideal hiking companion, steady, competent, and he didn’t act like she was anything less than an equal.

Even the last rappel hadn’t been about whether she could do it or not, but that he could and had done it better and faster. So, she compartmentalized the lingering concerns from all their previous interactions and relied on the fact he’d been mostly stable for the last few days.

Stable, and if not trustworthy quite yet, at least reliable. He’d covered her on the roof, and got her off it safely. In that strangely familiar sensation, he reminded her of Steve. Trusting him to catch her if she needed it. And that just made no damn sense.

She did not trust if she could help it.

Mission time, and all the noise in her head just…calmed. Nothing else mattered. She looked at Steve. Even in the absence of light, she could make out his shape. His night vision was far sharper than hers so she made sure her expression reflected her readiness. “Good to go.”

“Buck says we’re about a mile from the base,” he said, falling right into the roles they’d carved for themselves. He could call the shots, and take point. She would sweep and clear, and Barnes? Barnes would cover their backs, most likely. “We’re going to cross the ground between here and there at a run, no moon, so we have good cover. Nat, you stay between Bucky and I on the run, I’ll choose the path.”

Fine, he could see obstacles she couldn’t.

“We clear an access point, we get in. Clear the perimeter. Quiet. Then identify where we need to go in. We clear each. But we move as a team.” He didn’t add until they would have to separate. Because that was a given. “We adjust as needed. Any questions?”

“Relax,” she murmured. “It’s not that complicated.”

His soft snort made her smile, but she did it more for his benefit than hers. Steve had been sidelined since Siberia. If she’d read the whole situation correctly, this was first mission since then—so an adjustment for all of them. She could work with it.

Without a word, Steve poured some water over the last of the embers, extinguishing the fire and plunging them into the utter dark of the cave. A light tap on her arm, and she stretched her hand to rest on a shoulder—Steve’s she thought, but no, the hard surface beneath the fabric. Barnes.

Either way, she let him guide her to the entrance and then she slipped through sideways. Outside, the blanket of darkness left them cocooned, but a hint of light in the distance gave some texture. She made out Steve’s silhouette scant seconds before Barnes ghosted behind her.

With a nod, Steve set off and Nat flexed her fingers as she started a light run. Like the day before, Steve modified his pace for her. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t ask. The snow hadn’t piled thickly—yet. The wind had at least calmed. The soft crunch of their boots in the snow resembled the stuttering staccato of a heartbeat.

Her muscles warmed and her cheeks stung from the cold by the time they reached the ten-foot fence. The double-chain links looked reinforced with razor wire along the top and Nat would bet the whole thing had been electrified. The lack of floodlights played in their favor. She pulled out a small pair of night vision binoculars.

“15 meters east,” Barnes said quietly, and she marked the solitary guard leaning against a guard booth the tip of a cigarette glowing orange as he took a drag. Holstered sidearm, but she didn’t clock another weapon. Sweeping back to the center, she paused and locked on a second pair of guards, courtesy of their cigarettes.

“Two more, five meters north of the first.”

“Another two,” Steve murmured. “Another ten meters west.”

One booth guard, two patrols—they had to assume there would be more. “That’s a lot of firepower for the middle of the night in a snow storm.” Uneasiness slid through her gut.

Should they have waited for more intel on the site? Her instincts overrode her reluctance. She was already days behind where she should be. They couldn’t afford to wait. With Alexei involved, the timing had become all the more crucial.

“Nat, I’m going to give you a lift over,” Cap said quietly. He and Barnes could both clear that jump on their own. “You go west, those two are yours. Buck, you get the guy in the booth, I’ll take the other two. You two sweep the perimeter—I’ll cut across, we meet on the other side.”

And just like that, the first need to split up came. She’d expected it. “Cameras,” she warned, checking the edge of the closest building. She’d counted three, but there were huge blind spots in their coverage.

“Yeah, I saw ‘em,” Cap’s voice was all business. Barnes grunted an agreement. “Ready?”

She tracked the pair Cap wanted her to take once more, then stowed her binoculars and nodded. He rose from their concealed crouch and moved swiftly over the open ground. She followed a half a heartbeat later, at a run, he had his hands braced and she put a foot right into his cupped fingers. He pushed up and she soared over the fence, flipped and landed with a rolling tumble straight into a run.

A soft pop sounded behind her even as she reached her two. She caught the look of surprise across their faces as she hooked her legs around the first and jerked him off his feet even as she caught the jacket of the second and yanked him off center. Goon number one went down with a word, the impact of his head to the ground knocking him cold.

The second guy stumbled but she was already on him, and she pressed the bites to his neck. The stingers shocked him and his eyes rolled back in his head. After zip tying their hands and feet, she broke down their rifles, and stripped the ammo. Leaving them secured, she began her sweep, avoiding the camera angles and trusting Barnes and Cap to handle their targets.

Moving in the shadows of the buildings, avoiding the cameras, and bringing down two more patrols kept her busy. Barnes said nothing unless Steve asked for a report, but then neither did she. They kept it brusque, and businesslike. Beyond the large warehouse like building in the center, there were multiple outbuildings.

“We need to clear these before we breach.” Currently, she crouched near one where a discarded cigarette butt rested atop the snow still smoking. Footprints showed someone coming out—likely for a smoke—then heading back inside.

“Hold,” Cap ordered. “We’re coming to you.”

“Buildings up front have equipment, not people.” Barnes reported.

Three minutes later, Cap dropped into a crouch next to her with Barnes a half step behind him.

The door she’d been watching opened, and a guy shuffled out. Dressed in a heavy coat over what looked like pajama bottoms and his feet stuffed into unlaced boots, he looked more like someone who’d just woken up.

She tapped Cap’s arm once, and then stalked forward, clinging to the shadows. Her target cupped a hand around his lighter as he lifted the flame to his cigarette. A split second later, he shot his eyes upward as he realized Natasha stood in front of him. It was probably a little cruel to enjoy the surprise rippling through his expression.

“Those things’ll kill you,” she told him, then took him down with a hard right hook. His head snapped back and he dropped. She caught him, and pulled out fresh zip ties. Cap was at her side, bracing the door and dragging the guy inside. Barnes stalked forward, taking lead.

It was definitely a barracks of some kind, though the men were quartered two or three to a room rather than one long set of racks. She switched out her Glock for an icer, glad she’d shoved a pair into the packs. After tossing the second one to Barnes, she slid into the first room. One, two, three. The sleeping men stayed down.

They worked each side of the hall, making sure the men stayed down. Cap kept watch on the hall, and on the door.

Nothing of note gave away anything about the work they were doing, but not all the men in those rooms were guards. Some didn’t have the look or muscle mass. Done, they headed for the next building.

By the time they reached the third set of barracks, they’d neutralized most of the resistance without issue. She’d barely bruised her legs on the patrols, and her knuckles ached from the hook, but nothing that wouldn’t be repaired in a few hours.

She checked their time. Sixty-four minutes to clear the patrols, and all the outbuildings. Next was whatever the hell they had in that warehouse. The similarity to the one in London hadn’t been lost on her. She’d gotten in there by slipping in with the cargo, shackles and all.

This one would be different. She’d been collecting security cards along the way. While the outbuildings didn’t seem to require them, the main facility did. With Barnes and Cap watching her back, she ran a card and waited to see what it would ask for—security code. She switched for the RFID decrypter in one of her pouches. The device had helped her crack Hammer Tech, and later get into Zola’s basement. A quick holo gave her a code and she entered it. The door hissed when it released.

Air pressurized. Barnes caught the door but she was already inside, a stinger in her palm. A camera in the corner had a red light indicating it was operational. She flicked the stinger, shutting it down. Anyone they would alert was either ahead of them in the building or far enough away they would have to fly to get here.

She liked those odds.

They stood in what looked like a tiled lobby with weathered and ancient wallpaper, a dented, and cracked desk sat in the center with three large monitors. Swinging around the desk, she looked for a computer base. It was old, but it had been modified with a USB accessory. She plugged in a thumb drive, and started cracking her way through the passwords.

Less than sixteen bit encryption.

Not smart.

Three minutes later, she was onto their security network. One alarm was on, she disabled it and the screens in front of her lit up with a series of partitioned view screens. “I’m in,” she told Cap, and he shifted to look over her shoulder.

Labs. Scientists or doctors in haz mat gear.

Computer banks.

Row upon row of what looked like biochemical work, test tubes, bubbling liquids.

Supply rooms, all wrapped in sheets of heavy plastic.

Medical equipment.

Medical rooms… metal tables.

Sweat gathered along the back of her neck.

She tabbed to the next set of rooms and stiffened. Cap’s indrawn breath faded as she narrowed her gaze on the chair close to the one she’d seen in the footage. The ugly steel contraption sat in the center of a room, long cables plugged into it, and IV stands attached, just waiting for her to be locked into place then they’d slip the needles into her arms, the loading doses slithering like ice as they dumped into her system.

The fire came later.

Cap put a hand over the top of hers, and eased her clenched fist open slowly. Breath control returning to her, she forced her shoulders to relax and compartmentalize. The chair needed to be destroyed. They were there. She had enough C-4 on her to vaporize the damn thing.

Heat bracketed her on the right. Barnes had moved to join them, but he said nothing as he stared at the screen. Steve didn’t release her hand, and it kept her grounded. She could pull her gaze off the chair.

“There,” she said abruptly, after jerking her attention to the next screen. “File room.” Straightening, she extracted her hand from Steve’s grip and then pulled out two more thumb drives and handed one to each of them. “Whoever gets to those data banks. Just plug that in. It will download all the data.” If they have more than a terabyte, they wouldn’t get it all, but she had to trust the programs.

Pivoting, she met Cap’s questioning gaze. Was she good to keep going?

She nodded. “I’m going for the file room.” It was right next to the chair. He narrowed his gaze. “And I have C-4,” she reminded him. The weight of Barnes’ gaze hemmed her in along with Steve’s worried look.

Finally Cap nodded. “Buck, clear the labs. Icers only. Drag them out, then set your charges.”

Barnes’ expression tightened, but he nodded.

“I’m on the computer banks, and the supply rooms. Everyone stay on comms. We need to know what they are doing here.”

“We’re burning it,” Barnes said quietly, and Natasha wholeheartedly agreed. “No matter what they’re doing.” The chair confirmed it for her, and apparently for him.

It all went.

“Agreed.” Cap glanced from Barnes to her. Resolution in his expression. He wanted it gone, too.

He didn’t try to comfort her again, which was good. She needed the cold anger burning beneath the surface of her skin. Once they were through the next set of doors, they split off. As she stalked down the hallway, she caught another camera tracking her. She’d disabled the security, which suggested someone else had control of the camera. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a stinger to it and the charge left the device smoking.

“Be aware, someone else may be on the cameras. Disable them.” No sooner had the words left her mouth, than she heard a subtle pop-pop then a ricocheting slam that could only be the shield.

“Copy,” both super soldiers answered in almost the same breath.

At the end of the hall, she diverted deeper, and then found the stairs. “Heading to the basement,” she warned them, in case the depth interfered with comms. It had done so before. She’d already disabled another pair of cameras, and found yet another at the base of the stairs along with a locked steel door—heavier and far more reinforced than the ones on the ground level.

It took her slightly longer to crack the code, and for the door to release. Another pressurized hiss… Warier, she slid one of the glocks out of its holster before she eased inside. There was no code box inside, and no handle on the interior of the door.

“Steel door,” she reported. “No code box or door handle. It’s one way in, can only be opened from the outside.”

“Then hold,” Cap ordered.

“Can’t,” she told him, looking along the rows and rows of files, it looked like this floor mirrored the space from above. “Too much down here to search, we definitely need whatever they’ve got in the electronic records.” Because there was no way they could carry all this out. “I trust you to get me out, Steve.”

And then the door closed behind her and her comms went dead.

He was going to kill her. Glock in hand, she made her way along the aisles. There were storage boxes up to the ceilings. Pausing to look at one row, she grimaced.

Cyrillic.

Some German.

The row nearest the steel door dated back to the 1940s.

It was close to the door, she had to come back. Returning to the center, she jogged up the middle, wary but hearing nothing to give away the presence of anyone. It had to be a quarter of a mile across. At the end were more old computer banks with the huge tape drives. Her stomach dropped. “Don’t be Zola,” she murmured more to herself than anyone else. Of course, it had a more modern USB port, and a desktop computer interface that looked more this century than the last.

She could probably spend a year in this hellhole and still not find everything. Even if they weren’t Hydra now, they had been. The telltale symbol was painted across the concrete floor before her. Damn thing made her skin crawl.

Turning slowly, she studied the walls. No visible doors, but…she paused and then crossed to the southern wall. It didn’t fit the space…as if it had narrowed versus the other side. More there were old scuffmarks in the floor, like those a door would make. Moving her hand along it, she let her fingers search for a catch, or pass code box or anything that would give her access. One of the stone colored bricks jostled, and she pressed it in on one side and out popped a keypad with thick, chunky keys.

Old school.

On autopilot, she entered 1-1-2-4. Another pressure release and the whole brick wall opened, and the lights inside flared ugly halogen bright on the steel trap. It was right out of a nightmare. Everything slowed.

Behind her, voices shouted, “Hurry, we will not have much time.” The words rolled over her, dunking her under even as her brain translated. The squeal of rubber wheels rattling against cement.

She turned, as if in a dream, to see several men rushing a gurney toward the room. Armed guards followed them, surrounding…

“Move you idiots! The tranquilizer is wearing off. He burns through them too fast,” the impatient voice cursed as he and the others tried to drag the figure off the gurney. The image blurred.

“ _Ne_ , Lyonya... _. Vam ne nuzhno delat' eto_.” A demand and a plea. They didn’t have to do this. Please. Don’t. The familiar Russian unspooled, tangling around her as she tried to surface. Breathe. She didn’t dare turn around as they wrestled…black spots danced in front of her eyes. She had to breathe. Then the machine locked into place, shackles rattling noisily. She couldn't breathe. Blue liquid suspended in plastic bags. It hurt. They were draining so fast.

_“Soldat!”_

Power screamed through the walls.

_“Malen'kiy pauk!”_

Ozone burned her nostrils.

_“Protri yego, duraki!”_

Rage echoed in the single drawn out roar.

_“Ne pechal'sya Ty sleduyushchiy.”_

Sparks exploded, power dimmed, and then surged.

She doubled over, gasping, the pressure in her chest burning. Then she threw up. 

She couldn't breathe.

“Natasha!” Steve had an arm around her middle and dragged her backwards away from the chair as the cold air rushed it to slap against her hot face. Barnes blurred as he appeared in her line of sight, his mouth set in a grim line and her vision fluttered—the past overlaying the present.

Her heart raced and she clenched her fists as she squeezed her eyes shut. Bile turned to acid in her mouth, but the smell faded.

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice pressed right against her ear. His arm around her waist was a steel band. His chest a solid wall against her back.

“I’m here,” she said, breathing through her nose, trying desperately to get it under control.

“Where are you?” The pressure of his embrace grounded her.

“Facility. Azzano. I’m Natasha Romanoff.” She knew the drill. “I’m here to destroy that damn thing.”

“Yes you are.”

Barnes glanced at her again, his eyes were so cold yet rage simmered within them. His expression all hard planes and shadowed relief. “You know it?” She didn’t have to ask what he meant.

The chair.

He meant the damn chair.

She managed a slow, if shaky, nod.

“We’ll destroy it.” Barnes held out his hand. “C-4.”

She had to pat Steve’s arm to get him to let her go. He did, but he didn’t move away. Removing the pack from her back, she tossed it to Barnes. For a split second, her gaze dipped to the floor.

No vomit.

Touching fingers to her mouth, she found no traces on her lips.

Forcing herself to back away one step at a time, she swallowed the taste of ash from her mouth. “I’m going to look at the files.”

Then she moved as swiftly as possible. She would not look back. The damn screaming continued to echo in her ears, and every step she took away felt like a hammer striking a nail in a coffin.

The nearest rack of files were dated for earlier in the year. She read the names along them as she walked, looking for anything that jumped out at her.

The last one stopped her cold.

Four boxes, all bearing her name.

“Nat…” But whatever Steve intended to say, he swallowed as he reached past her to jerk the box out. He might not know Cyrillic, but he apparently recognized her name. Inside were files, some looked like what she’d given Steve to help in his search for Bucky. Others were…

“Medical records.” She wanted to throw up all over again or maybe just for real this time. SHIELD medical records.

“News reports.” Steve had yanked out another box. “Pictures.”

Barnes had joined them, and he looked from her box to Steve’s, then to the wall and grabbed another one. He opened it and cursed.

When she turned to look, Steve slammed a lid over it. “Nat don’t…”

“Yeah, it doesn’t work that way Rogers.” She motioned for them to open the box. Barnes glanced at him, then pushed his hand off the lid so she could open it.

Tapes.

Audio.

Video.

A compact disc also sat on the top. Lifting it with numb fingers, she stared at the date, and the words on it. Black Widow Debrief… the year she’d gone to SHIELD.

“I need all of it,” she admitted, loathing how quiet and needy her voice came out. She cleared her throat. Reaching for her pack from Barnes, but he was already opening his and stuffing it as full as he could. Steve mirrored him, between the three of them. They got most of it.

She flipped through the last bits… Odd letters, they looked like assessments. She didn’t recognize any of the handlers’ names. Old orders. Deployments, cover descriptions. Some were familiar and others weren’t.

At the bottom of one, an old photo was stuck to the cardboard and it took her a minute to free it. The sepia tones bled most of the color from it, but the little girl staring up at her, had blood on her face, a nasty cut on her forehead and a bloodier knife in her hand.

She grinned. Proud as hell.

The memory swamped her.

She was nine.

She’d killed one of the girls who tried to kill her. She’d won.

It was her first kill, but she’d been so damn happy to be alive.

And they took a damn photo of it?

Steve and Barnes had both gone still next to her, their gazes a heavy weight. But she couldn’t talk to them about this.

Letting the photo slip out of her fingers, she ignored it as it floated back into the box.

That could burn, too.

One more scan of the boxes, and none of them had her name. “The 1940s are that way,” she said, turning on her heel. “We need to see if Barnes’ file is here, too.”

They were swift to follow her. She’d shrugged her pack on, the weight of it threatening to hunch her shoulders not because of how much was in it, but the content.

“You know,” she said over her shoulder. “You don’t get to give me grief about medical ever again, Cap.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, his voice tight. “I won’t.”

Guilt stabbed her and she glanced back at him. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either. It’s theirs.” Violence shimmered in his eyes. The kind she hadn’t seen since they’d run into Zola.

Yeah. It was theirs.

“We’ll burn it, Natalia,” Barnes told her. The fact he kept using her real name had kind of grown on her and she took an odd kind of comfort in it now. “All of it.”

Tanya had dismissed this place. It was its own horror show.

The steel door had been torn half out of the wall, and mangled. Natasha blinked for a moment. How the hell hadn’t she heard that?

Shaking her head, she pointed them to the right and left. “All 1940s…look for _Zimniy soldat_ or Barnes. I don’t know how they would have listed you.” She almost wanted to apologize. She was pretty sure it would be soldat and not his name.

He hadn’t been human to them.

_“Soldat!”_

The voice echoed in her ears, and she shook her head.

Barnes didn’t seem surprised, but Steve only looked angrier. It took a minute, and she had to climb up to the top, but she found one box.

Just one.

Flipping it open, she found two files, and some dog tags. They read James Buchanan Barnes. “I got it.” One box?

How could he only have one box? Or did they have them broken out by years?

Would she find more of her boxes here? Or in the other stacks?

Barnes and Steve stopped below her. “It’s just one box,” she told them, and dropped the dog tags. Barnes caught them, then stared. His expressionless face alternated between sad and lost with angry and resigned. “Those and these.” She held up the files.

“What do they say?” Barnes closed his metal hand around the tags.

Flipping open the first file, she grimaced at the gruesome picture on the first page. It showed Barnes laid out on a metal table, his left arm bleeding from a stump. Even without color, he looked ill. It had to have been taken not long after his fall. The hair was short, and there were wounds along his side and chest, still raw looking.

“Natalia?” Barnes called.

Flipping past the picture, she read the pages. “Intake…” God what a useless, innocuous little word for something so horrific. “Intake. It’s—it’s what they did when they found you.” She closed that file before she threw up again, then opened the next. If it were possible, this one was worse.

“Nat?” Cap’s voice jerked her back to the present.

“Psychological profile. Interviews.” They hadn’t started the reprogramming right away. Her eyes burned. No, first they’d pulled him apart to see what made him work.

Unmade.

“It’s a psychological profile to provide guidelines for programming success. Fears. Desires. Ghosts. Needs. Everything.” And she snapped it shut, she did not want to intrude into his life anymore than any of the others had.

She wanted him to say burn them. More, she wished she’d not even had the idea to look or hadn’t found them.

If it were her, she’d want to know.

“Bring them,” Barnes said, and she tucked the files into her backpack with the rest before she climbed down.

“Do we want to search anymore of these?” Cap asked, sounding more like he thought they would have to rather than out of any desire.

“No,” Barnes said. “They moved Natalia’s to recent, but there were decades in those boxes. If these are all that are in mine, then I wasn’t here that much.”

_“Soldat!”_

The spots danced in her vision.

“Then we go. Charges all set?”

Barnes pulled out two more C-4 patches and put them on the ends of the first row of stacks. “Making sure it burns.”

For a split second, Natasha remembered the old computer banks at the end of the row and then dismissed it. They had already lanced open a huge boil of the past and she wasn’t going anywhere near that chair.

Not again.

She stepped past the destroyed steel door and followed Steve up the stairs. “Did you get to their data room?”

“Yes,” he said over his shoulder. “Got it. Cleared out the doctors, set charges in there, and in the labs. Buck?” They were at the top of the stairs, and Bucky pressed his thumb to a switch. A boom shook the floor below them as the charges went off in the basement.

Not even the sense of savage satisfaction could chase away the ghosts crowding behind her on the stairs as they made their exit. Charges were going off in the back, and they’d ripple forward.

They emerged into an empty yard, snow still falling and the darkness slowly fading. It felt more like they’d emerged from the underworld.

“Back to the fence,” Steve ordered, the lingering traces of Cap washing out of his voice. More rumbles as explosions echoed in the building. Natasha half expected to see forces surrounding them, she slowed near the fence, expecting Cap to give her another boost over.

Then a high-pitched, raucous sound split the dawn air, and Natasha jerked around, Glock in hand.

Soft laughter echoed over the snow and it was the creepiest damn thing she’d ever heard.

“Romanova,” called a male voice. She knew that voice. Where the hell did she know that voice from? “ _Eto bylo davno._ ”

It had been a long time? Yeah, not nearly long enough. Barnes and Steve were right next to her, bracketing her. A loud speaker that looked more like an air raid siren jutted out from a radio tower. A second one was propped near the main gates.

“Captain America,” the man sounded amused. “And the Winter Soldier. _Kakaya pautina u tebya krutilas', Chernaya Vdova_.”

“Nat?” Steve had his shield up, and ready. Even Barnes had the Saw in his hands.

“Let’s go,” Nat murmured. “If this bastard sends a missile, I don’t want to still be here.”

Steve nodded and they moved toward the fence. Barnes covered her while Steve got into position.

“Don’t worry, Little Spider,” the voice called, and she flinched at the name. He’d switched to English and Steve’s jaw tensed. “We will see each other soon. It will be good to play with you again.”

Fuck. Who was he?

Steve cupped his hands, and she repeated the earlier maneuver, flipping over and clearing the fence. It hummed like someone had turned up the voltage, sparks shooting away in fiery little arcs only to be go out in the snow. Steve and Barnes were right behind her. One the transformers exploded. Then another, and like a cascade effect, they went off. The building itself also began to explode.

“ _Proshchay poka Malen'kiy Pauk. Begi bystro. No pomni ... ya naydu tebya. YA vsegda naydu tebya.”_ A shudder raced over the surface of her skin at the endearment and his promise.

There was a boom and then a series of explosions ripped across the base, sound and fury rushing right at them. Barnes slammed into her at the same time Steve did and Steve braced the shield as a wave of concussive force slammed into them, shoving them several feet.

Heat washed over her, sucking all the breath from her lungs and something in her chest cracked as she landed, the hard weight of Barnes driving his elbow into her gut. Steve landed on both of them. The cacophony of the explosion echoed against the mountains and as it drifted away, a cracking sounded in the earth.

“Up,” Cap ordered, hauling Barnes up first, and then her. She had a split second to look back at the gaping hole in the earth where the facility had been, and the edges were still tumbling into the bowl created from the implosion.

Natasha couldn’t look away. What the hell… Cap and Barnes hooked their arms through hers and ran, carrying her between them. It was almost like being trapped in a horror movie as the split earth chased after them, trees toppled and still they moved, all the way toward the sheer wall they’d rappelled down the day before.

“I’ll take Natalia,” Barnes said, shifting his pack to Steve. “You have the shield.” Then he turned to her. “Up,” he ordered, and pointed a thumb at his back.

The crash of another tree in the distance demolished any argument, and she hooked her thighs to his hips, and locked her arms under his, then gripped his shoulders. She tossed a fast look at Steve, he was looking behind them and his jaw tight.

“Go,” he said, turning back to them, then his eyes softened when he met her gaze. “I’m right behind you.”

Barnes was already climbing. He used the rope, and his metal hand, sometimes punching his fingers into the rock to create handholds, as well as slamming his boot into the wall for another grip. Balancing her weight, she did everything she could to match his center of gravity. Her chest ached with every breath, so she tried to keep them shallow. The snow left her hair damp, and some of it had to have gotten under her jacket cause the wet just made her colder.

The rumbling behind them continued. It seemed to take forever and no time at all, but Barnes never slowed. It occurred to her as they neared the top, she could hear Cap right behind them. Barnes had been creating handhold for him as well. Then at the top, he slowed and said, “ _Podnimis', Natal'ya.”_

 _“Da,”_ she answered. Yes, she could climb. Carefully, she unlatched her arms and then shimmied up his back using the rope around one hand for balance then she climbed up and then over. Her muscles trembled from being held so rigid, but she rolled over to give him a hand and help pull him ease over the edge. Then he joined her to grab Steve.

Panting, they lay there. She and Barnes on their stomachs, and Steve on his side. Finally, she lifted her head to look back at where they’d come.

It looked like crater had been plowed right out of the mountain. Smoke and debris rose like a vicious dust cloud and all the while, snow kept falling.

“You okay?” She managed to wheeze out, putting her hand on Steve’s leg. The muscles beneath her fingers trembled with fatigue. Hers did too and she hadn’t actually been climbing.

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled the syllable before hauling himself up to sit. “You? Buck?”

“Said it was a terrible exit,” Barnes groaned, shoving himself up to kneel. “Pretty sure we didn’t use that much explosive though.”

“Booby trapped,” she muttered, not willing to sit up yet. Her chest hurt. Her legs hurt. Her head hurt. Even her soul felt bruised. “Not sure why that bastard thought he would see me again with that much of a failsafe in place.”

Who the hell was he?

Finally, she made herself move or she wouldn’t and the cold ground was unforgiving on her already bruised body. She caught Barnes’ eye. “ _Spasibo_.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Steve brushed the hair from her face. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you,” she told him, running her gaze over his cut and bruised cheek.

“It’ll heal,” he dismissed the concern, tracing his fingers over what felt like a fairly shallow cut along her hairline.

“So will I,” she told him with a wry smile. “Head wounds just bleed a lot.”

“Did you hit your head in the explosion?” Barnes frowned at her.

“No,” she shook her head, then paused. “You know, maybe. Didn’t hurt if I did—or at least not as much as having two super soldiers land on top of me. Thanks for that, by the way. Both of you.”

She wasn’t an idiot. She’d be in a hell of a lot worse shape if they hadn’t taken the brunt of the concussive force.

“No problem,” Steve said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Glad to do it.”

“Yeah,” Barnes answered. “Same.”

“Well, I owe you.” For more than that…for getting her out of the vault of horror, for getting her away from the chair, for coming on this damn crusade.

“No you don’t,” Steve exhaled as he pushed to his feet, then lifted her to hers. “Remember, this is what we do.”

When he turned to pull Barnes up, the former assassin grinned at her crookedly. He sported a few cuts of his own, but didn’t look worse for wear. “So now what? We keep climbing back to where the boyfriend dropped us off?”

“We’re not staying here,” Steve decided. “If this plays out like Camp Lehigh…” Yeah he had the same feeling she had. “They could have air support coming in to look for us. We need to move and stay under cover until Clint picks us up.”

The last thing she wanted to do was another hike and climb, but she would pull her own weight.

“Don’t worry, we can trade you off,” Barnes told her with a wink.

“Bucky!” Steve twisted to look at him, irritation radiating from every muscle.

“I meant for the climbs. She’s got to have bruised ribs, and her breathing is labored.” Barnes was almost too innocent. No, she wasn’t buying that remark. He’d done it on purpose, but it was a little funny.

At least funny enough for her to appreciate it.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Steve groused, actually groused and that made Natasha smile a little wider. He didn’t usually grump so much as look stern or exasperated.

“I’ll work on that. Don’t be a punk,” Barnes gave him a little shove. “I made the lady smile.”

Her lips twitched again, and she started walking because if she stood there much longer she would stiffen. “You’re both idiots,” she told them. Idiots she was glad had been along or she might still be in that hole in the ground.

Steve caught up immediately, then slipped an arm around her waist, and she allowed it because her right ankle twinged a little with every step. Sprains sucked the worst. “Ankle?” he pitched the question low.

“Pretty much everything,” she admitted, for once she wouldn’t downplay it. Honestly, she was too raw on the inside.

He nodded, giving her a light squeeze and she didn’t pull away. Compromise.

“Natalia?” Barnes said as he fell into step with them.

Exhaling, she forced her brain to stop retreating. Images of the chair kept appearing, the dark spots blurring before she could see who was in it. Or maybe it had just been her… The voice said she was next.

Fuck. She’d been in that room. In that chair.

Steve ran his thumb against her hip, it was a barely noticeable sensation through the tact gear, and her bruises but being close to him kept her warmer and helped.

Finally, she glanced to her right. She could do this. Talk. Stay focused. Compartmentalize until extraction was done. Then _big_ bottle of vodka. “Yes, Barnes?”

“You think you can call me Bucky now?” It was said so earnestly; she had to hide another smile. They had to stop trying to make her laugh. It would hurt if she did, for one, and she needed to sort out that nightmare behind her for the other.

“I told you, I’m _not_ calling you Bucky.” He just didn’t look like a Bucky. A hint of disappointment flickered across his face, and images from his file danced across her mind.

_“Soldat!”_

He’d been so young…and she needed a little less darkness. Maybe he did, too. Yes, he’d shot her and yes there was a weird familiarity, but he was Steve’s friend. And he’d just saved her life.

Twice.

“How about James?” she offered.

“Yeah?” He brightened almost immediately. “Okay, yes. I would like it if you called me James.”

So she nodded, and ignored the little voice reminding her that she’d called him James in her head for a while, and she’d been trying to school it out of herself. Now, she’d given in. “Then James it is.”

A pleased expression spread across his face, and he gave Steve a smug look. Yeah, she wasn’t going to dive into what ever friendly dispute they wanted to launch into, so she let them do it.

_“Soldat.”_

Barnes had to have been in the chair. She’d been fighting to save him.

She’d lost.

_“Soldat!”_

Was that why she couldn’t remember him? Why he couldn’t remember her?

What the hell had they been to each other?

Then the man’s voice over the PA system echoed in her ears the Russian scraping over her like shards of glass leaving trails of blood in their wake.

_“Goodbye, Little Spider. Run fast. But remember ... I will find you. I will always find you.”_

No matter where she turned her thoughts, it was like she was trapped in her own web, and spinning in place. How did she fight someone she couldn’t remember? How did she escape what she didn’t know?

It took hours to return to the extraction point. She was cold, tired, and aching. They’d eaten the last of their protein bars. She refused them when the boys tried to give her theirs. Her stomach wouldn’t take it.

The reaction in the chair room—the flashback hit her harder than most of the others she’d suffered. It was the worst trigger she’d ever experienced. With hours still to wait, they pitched a tent beneath the trees, and Steve wrapped her inside one of the bedrolls, then he or Barn—James sat with her while the other took watch.

Neither would let her, and as much as she knew she should argue, she didn’t. Or more she couldn’t. Compartmentalizing failed to keep everything in place. It was as though she bled from too many cuts.

The guys talked, and some part of her mind listened, but the rest of her remained riveted in the file room. If SHIELD had still existed, they would have sent a whole team of agents in to record, catalogue and disseminate every word. Experiments. Tortures. Missions. All of it.

Raw.

Exposed.

Never had she been so glad SHIELD was gone. Torching it was for the best even if she never remembered on her own; she wanted no one else to have that info.

Tanya called Budapest a spider trap. They had to go there next. Then Moscow, Volgograd and Arkangelsk. Somewhere out there was the man on the PA. He wasn’t Alexei. Which meant in addition to Alexei, and Ross, she had another problem.

Steve had rejoined her at some point, and he pushed his fingers through her hair. He was checking the laceration. She could barely feel it.

She could barely feel anything.

“Hey. You doing okay?” He pressed a small canteen into her hands, and she drank. The coldness soothed the burn in her throat.

“I’m fine. I should be. But no,” she told him, restraining her reflexive deflection. Barely. “Not ready to talk about it yet.”

Maybe not ever.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and left it alone. It was only a reprieve, though. Sooner or later, they needed her to tell them.

_“Soldat!”_

Twice she reached for her backpack, and twice she put her hands back in her lap. Once she read those files… reviewed the photos…and the tapes… how did she explain this? What her place in all of this was? Or was supposed to be?

 _“Sloppy. Pretending to fail. The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world._ ”

“ _I have no place in the world.”_

“ _Exactly.”_


	28. How long before you trust me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a long twenty-four hours between dropping them near Azzano, and extraction. It definitely gets worse after he picks them up.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

_How long before you trust me?_

Clint

 

 

_Post mission initiated – T-minus 23 hours and counting…_

 

Clint’s shoulder throbbed and the rest of him ached by the time he returned to the apartment. Never had he been so glad for such an open roof plan or that he’d never gotten around to adding more to the roof top. He angled the landing so when he opened the hatch it faced the ocean, rather than the canal.

Once back inside, he made a point to swallow the pills for his fever and only half the dose for his pain. It just needed to be manageable. He heated up soup, forcing himself to eat all of it followed by a bottle of water. By the time he settled into a chair in the living room, he made sure the comm was tucked behind his ear, and he had a weapon in easy reach.

Eyes closed, he was out.

 

 

_T-minus 18 hours and counting…_

He woke on the first ring. The number on the display was a burner from the Barton farm. “Laura?” he answered.

“Hey…you okay?” Caution wound through her voice.

“I’ll live. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” A beat to let her lie hover there. “I…was actually calling to talk to Nat.” Honest. And he had answered Nat’s burner.

“She can’t talk right now.” Then because he didn’t want to be an ass, he forced himself to sit up and ignored the fire in his shoulder. He needed to ice the damn thing again. “Can I help?”

“I think it would be awkward to cry on your shoulder about you.” The hint of dry sarcasm made him smile. Yeah, he’d let her down and it hurt that they hadn’t been able to make it work. Fine, that he hadn’t been able to make it work. But still…she was Laura.

“I don’t know, it might be cathartic,” he offered. “If it helps, pretend I’m Nat. I won’t hold it against you.”

It took a moment to get to his feet, and he gave himself a minute because his head swam.

“Why don’t I pretend you’re you, and ask if _you’re_ okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, and made his way toward the kitchen. More water, and another pain pill. He hated the damn things, but if he couldn’t move when they called him, he’d hate it more. “You know me.”

A pause, then he could _almost_ hear her smile when she said, “Nat is way more convincing. You know that right?”

“She’s better at everything,” he agreed, not insulted in the least.

“True.” It was the smallest of jabs, and he willingly took it. “But neither of you will ever tell me when something is wrong, so I won’t ask…but you can talk to me, too. We’re going to try and be friends right?”

Dry swallowing the pill left a foul taste in his mouth or maybe it was just the reminder of hollow promises he meant, but couldn’t always keep. “Laura, I’ll be anything you need me to be. If you need to yell? Fire away. If you need to talk, I’m listening. If you need advice, well, you were always better at it, but I’ll do what I can. If you need Nat…whatever you need. That’s how this will work.”

She went quiet for so long he had to check the phone to make sure they hadn’t disconnected.

“It’s almost two minutes,” she finally said and he leaned his forehead against the fridge. “Never longer than two minutes.”

“I’ll have her call you as soon as she’s back.”

“Thank you.”

“Laur?”

“The kids?”

“They’re okay. Call this weekend, yeah? Maybe video them?”

“I’ll do my best.” He had no idea where they would be on the weekend.

“You always try.” Another jab, and he couldn’t fault her for it. Then the call disconnected and he rested against the fridge for another minute before making another ice pack.

Once he was back in the chair and had the ice pack on his shoulder, he closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t come so easily with the hot throb from his shoulder. Bullets hurt less than failure.

A lot less.

 

_T-minus 12 hours and counting…_

The phone ringing this time was his. The number on the ID was another burner, but it took him a minute to place it.

“Wanda?” he answered it as it began to ring a second time.

“Hi,” she said, her accent more pronounced. Being back in Sokovia seemed to have erased the conscious adjustments she’d been working on.

“Hey kid, everything okay?”

“Yes.” A smile in her voice, so mostly true. “I just…I hadn’t talked to anyone. And I…” She trailed off a little, and he could almost picture her wincing.

“It’s okay,” he assured her and checked the time. It was the middle of the night. “But it’s late, or way too damn early. So talk to me kid…”

“I had a bad dream,” she admitted, sounding as young as Lila all of a sudden. “It’s silly and I know I woke you up. But…is everything all right?” Worry discolored the words.

“Tell me about the dream,” he invited her as he peeled the now melted ice pack off his shoulder and made his way to his feet. He’d left a single lamp on when he’d passed out again, and it gave the apartment a soft glow.

“It’s silly,” she said with a seemingly self-conscious laugh. “I really shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“It’s fine. I wanted coffee anyway.” He shuffled into the kitchen and took his time setting the coffee on. He’d need about a gallon. “Can’t really sleep well without it.”

“You drink coffee and go to sleep?” Doubt echoed under each syllable.

“Sure,” he said, not even lying. “You have kids, you drink a lot of coffee. You run missions, you drink a lot of coffee. You sit at home on your ass…you need a lot of coffee or it doesn’t work.”

“Clint, that’s ridiculous.” But she was smiling. “If you have too much caffeine it makes you jittery.”

“Says you,” he sniffed disdainfully. “I am just not human without at least a fifty-fifty split between caffeine and nutrition. You know that coffee is the sixth food group, right? It’s the pinnacle of the food pyramid.”

A snort of laughter escaped, and he could picture her trying to press her fingers to her lips to keep from giving herself away. Her poker face was nearly as bad as Cap’s. “That’s terrible, and do you teach your children this?”

“I would be a terrible father if I didn’t. How are they going to make it through life missing out?” He scoffed as he emptied the zip loc of water, and refilled it with ice. At least his shoulder had dulled to just being jabbed over and over rather than being impaled.

Progress.

“How’s it going?” He changed the subject, and circled her back to her. “You doing okay? Need anything? Money? Advice? Make up tips? Wait—scratch the last. You definitely don’t want my advice on that one.”

Fresh laughter, but then Wanda told him about the apartment she’d found and the work in the city. There were a number of refurbishment projects being tackled. The area of the city left barren after Ultron tore a huge chunk of the firmament away was currently being converted into a park, and reserve—community gardens, playground areas, bike and running paths, and so much more. Unfettered joy began to escape as she chattered on.

“I love it, I didn’t know how much I could…but I get to work with my hands, and I’m just another student. Foreign professors and teachers are coming and going. They offer free classes, and I am learning a lot…stuff about growing things, and people, and politics.”

“That’s a weird combination,” he admitted, then checked the time. They’d been on the phone for far longer than two minutes, but he didn’t want to cut her off. Still… “Hey kid, when we’re done, I need you to break down this phone and get another one. I can get a drop to you if you can’t lay hands on another.”

“Oh,” she said with a sharp note on the syllable. “I forgot.”

“It’s fine. You needed to talk and really, I was happy to listen. Still better to be cautious, yeah?”

“Yes.” Then… “Clint, I miss you all, but…I feel good about being here. Like this is where I should be.”

“Miss you, too. Did you find what you were looking for there?”

“Not yet, but I feel closer…and I should go. I will move to the next number, yes?” Good girl, she’d remembered that lesson. He’d taught her the system he and Nat used for Laura and his family. A series of numbers they had to memorize, and never write down.

“Yep, you got it.”

A hesitation and then, “Everything is all right, right? You would tell me if something were wrong?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. “Everything’s fine, kid. Go get some sleep. You’ve got stuff to build or grow or paint—whatever it is tomorrow.”

A laugh, she sounded freer than she had at any time since he’d met her. “Good night, Clint.”

“Night, Wanda.”

Once she was off the phone, he broke it down, stripping it, and then fed the chip into the food disposal with water and turned it on. After he’d tossed the remains in the trash, he checked the time. With distaste, he retrieved the second of the antibiotic injections and stabbed himself in the arm before he could think on it. After tossing the empty syringe into the trash, he carried his coffee back to the sitting area and his chair.

He’d only reached the halfway mark.

 

 

_T-minus 9 hours and counting…_

All of Nat’s phones were ringing. He grabbed two of them and found the same messages on them. _Answer the damn phone Red._

Flipping the first one up, he said, “What’s wrong Tony?”

“A, how the hell did you know it’s me? And more importantly, B, where is she and what’s wrong?”

All traces of sleep and fatigue vanished. “She’s…not here.”

“Clint, her pulse and respiration are through the roof, so is her blood pressure. Where the hell is she and why aren’t you with her?” The edge in his voice slid along Clint’s spine like a razor. “Dammit, never mind. I’ll find her.”

“You’re flying aren’t you?” It took him a minute, the way his voice sounded over the phone, the hint of an echo against metal. “Stark, is this line secure?”

“Yes it’s secure. I’m not an idiot. Where the hell is she?”

“They went to investigate the base near Azzano,” Clint told him. “They’re in a communications blackout for another…” He checked the time. “A little under nine hours, then I’ll be there for the extract.”

“Boss, blood pressure is stabilizing, and her vitals are gradually moving toward normal.” Friday’s voice intruded on the call.

“She’s in combat then, probably—but this doesn’t read like combat. Temperature, respiration…they keep spiking.”

“Not doubting they ran into resistance. How are you reading her vitals?” Because if he tagged her in some way…

“Dial it back Legolas, I didn’t hijack the mirror of Galadriel. Red knows I can track her, and consented.”

Wow, that did not sound like Nat. “Did you get her drunk or something?”

“You know, not going to dignify that…why did you let her go with Rogers and Barnes on her own? Shouldn’t her _partner_ be there to guard her back?”

Irritation raked through him, and Clint scrubbed a face over his hand. “Nat can look after herself. Steve isn’t going to let anything happen to her…”

“Let’s say my faith in him isn’t as steadfast as it once was,” Tony interrupted. “Yes, she can look after herself, but her vitals suggest a hell of a lot is going on, so why aren’t you there?”

“Cause I’m here to answer your calls, Shellhead,” he snarked right back, then gritted his teeth.

“I’ll take care of extraction, I can get to her location by then—”

Fuck. Clint stood, needing the pain to shake off the sleep and to get his blood moving. “Stark wait,” he ordered, then added, “Please.” Guy had PTSD, and a hell of a lot of other issues. He was unapologetically himself, and…  

_“He was a master of deflection, using his reputation to distract them completely and succeeded in infuriating them both so much they walked away.”_

_“I told him the truth.”_

_“Stark…Stark won’t trust me again. Cause he’s a smart guy.”_

“One of Nat’s contacts gave her information in Prague…”

“Tatiana, Tanya…whatever. Cap told me. What about it?”

Well…wasn’t _that_ interesting?

“Told us about the different bases, tried to direct Nat to Russia.”

“Yeah, I got that too. Next?” Impatience flickered in every word.

“Ross’ men caught up with me when I went for supplies in Prague…took a hit. Nat and the guys got me out, but the shoulder is a little fucked up. I had to sit this one out. I’ll be there when they expect me, but not before they called time.”

Silence.

“Tony… Cap and Barnes are not going to let anything happen to her.”

“Her vitals say otherwise.” But beneath the snap and disdain echoed a very real concern.

“I’m worried about her, too. She gave you a way to track her, that’s huge.”

“It’s not enough,” he said, frustration winning out.

“She’s tough, she’s resourceful, and I’ve seen her get out of far worse situations.” Even if he didn’t know exactly what she was facing at the moment, other than a remote base that may or may not be Hydra.

“Fine.” Tony was all business again. “We’ll maintain monitoring. What do you know about Alexei Shostakov?”

“Other than he’s a son of a bitch, not much.” Unfortunately. Nat’s reaction told him a hell of a lot, but it would all be speculation.

“So she never told you about him?” Stark pressed. “That could mean something. He’s like an information black hole. I can’t tell he existed. I can find the father, Russian General, right time period—the 40s. Yeah that’s not going to get any easier. But no him. It’s like he’s been scrubbed.”

“Probably was if he was in the Red Room,” Clint admitted. “Natasha barely existed on paper. Ghosts. They were all ghosts or shadows…” He returned to the kitchen and filled his cup with still warm, if a little staler coffee. “They were _never_ supposed to exist.”

“How do you do it?” Tony shifted gears abruptly. “You were supposed to kill her, but you didn’t. She’s not supposed to exist, but she’s a damn person. You went to kill a ghost, but you save her. How did you know?”

“Because you can look into someone’s eyes when they tell you to just get it over with and see the desire to have the nothingness end. Some people bury their pain.” Clint took a long swallow of the coffee. “Some pick at the wound and never let it heal. Some wrap it around themselves like a suit of armor. But the pain is the same. I could have put an arrow through her, I could have ended it. Maybe I’d have even been able to sleep at night…but I didn’t want to kill her.”

“You wanted to save her.”

“Stark…trapped animals will fight to the death, they will rip their own legs off, and they will keep getting up until they just can’t anymore. I can’t imagine how many times she got up before she sat there willing me to end it for her.”

The engineer went quiet, and then he said, “Can we save her this time?”

Clint didn’t know the answer to that question. Not with so many damn variables. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if we can save any of us this time. But I’m sure as hell going to try.”

“Boss…heart rate 180, blood pressure in the red zone—respiration may be compromised.”

Cold fisted his heart, and the catch in Tony’s breath was audible.

“Boss, there are reports of a massive seismic disturbance in the mountains north of Vittorio Veneto in Italy.”

Neither man spoke. Fuck that was the right area.

“Heart rate 180, respiration shallow, and rapid. Blood pressure reading unavailable.”

“She’s in motion,” Tony murmured. “Harder to read if she’s moving.”

Friday’s updates repeated the data.

Moving meant not dead.

Hopefully it meant not captured, too.

Nat was in pain.

A lot of it.

Then… “Respiration evening, heart rate 120, blood pressure equalizing.”

She was still breathing.

“How much longer ‘til you get her the hell out of there?”

“Eight and a half hours.”

“I’m calling you in nine.”

Then the call ended.

And Clint dropped his chin to his chest. The throb in his shoulder dulled, but it still hurt.

It was going to be a long eight hours.

 

_Extraction +55 minutes_

“Easy, removing weapons and holsters. Then boots. Everything is right here within reach,” Clint kept up a running dialogue as he peeled off her weapons, then helped her out of her boots. Natasha moved mechanically, her green eyes distant and cloudy. So far she’d said next to nothing since he’d picked them up. They were all covered in dirt, and debris. Cap sported a single bruise that was already fading. Barnes’ face had evidence of shallow cuts that might have been deeper.

Blood flecks clung to Nat’s face, and neck. It was in her hair. He found the narrow freshly pink line along her scalp. She listed heavily to her right side, and it pulled on his shoulder to brace her but he didn’t care.

“We’re going to get the armor off, and then the suit.” He pulled the Velcro on the bulletproof vest, stripping it off when the last one came free. A part of it had bent in the back, and he tried not to think what she had to hit to leave a dent in the body armor. It landed atop her coat.

“I’m turning on the water to get it hot. Hands on the counter,” he continued and she moved sluggishly, but braced her palms on the cold marble. Pivoting, he turned the dials to get the water running. It sputtered at first, but then kicked in. There were two bathrooms in the apartment, and the guys could sort out who went first in the other one. They’d been in the middle of a glare off in the sitting room when Clint led her away.

Right now he didn’t have time for their drama.

The phone rang.

Nat gave a little start, but Clint pressed a hand to the center of her back, gentle but firm. Sometimes she just needed the reminder he was there. He’d asked Stark for a few more minutes when he called back at exactly the eight and a half hour mark. Flipping open the phone, he put it to his ear. “She’s here. A little worse for wear, but I’m still assessing.”

“Put her on.” He could appreciate the man’s worry, but the snap to tone needed to go.

“Putting you on speaker.” He hit the button and set it on the counter in front of Nat. “Nat, Tony’s on the phone.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Red?”

The thousand-yard stare didn’t seem to register Tony’s voice or the question in it. The last time Clint had seen her this bad was after Wanda whammied her. “We’re going to get the suit off, Nat. We need to do an assessment.”

Still no response.

Fine. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then said, “Romanoff. Mission report.” Infusing the words with hard command, he couldn’t allow himself to react to her flinch.

“Hey!” Yep, he’d pissed off Tony, but he didn’t have time to care.

Nat tilted her head as Clint tugged down the zipper. “Azzano facility destroyed,” she said slowly. “At least…thirty fatalities—guards, scientists…maybe others. I didn’t have time to get all their identities.”

Tony had gone dead silent, and Clint tried not to wince as he peeled the suit down her arms. Her entire chest was mottled black and blue.

“Security breach had been clean, no fatalities. Failure occurred when offsite monitoring triggered a self-destruct of some kind. We didn’t plant enough C-4 to sink the base.”

Sink the base? Clint’s teeth ground as he knelt slowly continuing to ease her suit over her hips and down her legs. They were as badly marked as her chest. When she stood in her bra and panties, he dumped the suit with the rest of her things and then stared at her back. One, darkly red mark stretched across it diagonally.

“Copied their drives.” The monotone delivery didn’t help with her bleak expression, and she barely flinched when he tested her ribs. She had to have some cracked there, and the mottling of her skin worried him more than anything. Nat could heal bruises, but internal bleeding could cause other issues. “Located box files…for Soldat. Numerous paper files also obtained for Romanova…including SHIELD secured copies. Tapes, audio and video.”

Clint sucked in air through his nose, and Tony remained steadfastly non-verbal.

Steam began to curl into the air around them as Clint forced himself to finish the medical assessment. The blood in her hair and along her neck had to have come from a head wound. He found no other evidence of open lacerations.

A bracelet was still snug on her wrist, but when he went to tug it off, it didn’t move.

“Promised I’d wear it.” She flicked her gaze to where he touched the bracelet, then met his gaze. “Clint—my intake debrief was in their boxes.”

The fuck? That was impossible. Fury destroyed all records of it because…

“What’s the significance of that?” Tony asked suddenly. “Besides being creepy as hell, why are we focusing on that?”

They didn’t call the man a genius for nothing.

“Her age,” Clint said slowly. “The serum. Details on the Red Room.” And a lot more. There was a reason Fury and Coulson elected to destroy it. They wanted no records.

Nat bit her lip, and the single tell—a tell he’d only ever seen her use with calculation on a mark struck him. This had rattled her worse than Wanda. Worse than when the Winter Soldier shot her in Odessa. Hell…worse than SHIELD falling.

“They had…a picture.” Her voice caught and broke. “When I was nine…when I killed Olena…they took a picture. I was, _happy_ , I killed her. She didn’t kill me. And they had a picture.”

Something crashed on the other side of the phone, but Clint just wrapped his arms around her as carefully as he could and he ignored the pull on his shoulder, ignored the stinging in his eyes, and cradled her as best as he could.

“You’re here,” he reminded her. “Not there. They can’t hurt you. Not anymore.”

It felt like a damn lie, because they were still hurting her.

No tears escaped her, and she didn’t even shake, she just leaned into him, wooden and stiff.

“Okay, you need to get in the shower, sweetheart. We need to get all of this off of you, and wash your hair.” With one hand against her back, he waited out her breaths. They were still shallow, she wasn’t taking any deeper ones. “Nat, take a deep breath for me, can you do that?” Were they cracked or broken?

She did as he asked, but it stuttered quickly.

“Painful?” Dumb question, but he had to hear it from her. Get her focused away from those boxes. They brought the stuff with them, which meant it had to be in their packs.

“I’m fine,” she answered, and he sighed.

“She is _not_ fine,” Tony gritted out between his teeth. “I’m coming back.”

For once, Clint didn’t have it in him to argue. “Is it going to compromise you with the Accords or Ross?”

Another crash over the phone. Pulling back from Nat, Clint stripped off the rest of her underthings, and kept his touch light and clinical as he helped her into the shower. She hissed when the water hit her, but then her shoulders seemed to sag.

“Come on sit.” He urged her, since they had a stool for just such occasions. His gaze narrowed on her left ankle, it had dark striations around it and it was a little puffy. Not broken, because her toes were working fine and she shifted her weight onto it.

But she’d could have wrenched it. Either way, he didn’t want her standing in the shower. Once she was settled, he braced a hand on the wall. “Can you wash your hair or do you want me to do it?”

“I can…” It really didn’t sound like it, then she said with a little more force, “I can. Was…was Tony here?” Slowly, ever so slowly, emotion bled through the cracks in her shock.

“I’m on the phone, Red.” Tony’s voice softened. “How you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” she admitted, inching a little closer to sounding like her, but still leagues away.

“I’m going to let you shower. Tell Friday when you’re done—if you want to talk. I’ll call back.”

“Okay.” Just that. Easy agreement.

Clint kept his internal sigh to himself. Seeing Tanya had been difficult enough. But this brought her close to breaking. What happened next? She shattered entirely?

“Hey Red?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay.” Give the man credit, he was trying.

“Sure,” she said, almost smiling. “Go away Stark, I’m naked.” There she was, climbing back up.

“Hmmph. Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

She laughed, it was a gasping laugh cut off on a hiss of pain but a laugh nonetheless.

And on the other end of the phone, Tony sighed. Clint didn’t think she heard it, because she turned her face into the water, but he did. Taking him off speaker, Clint backed away and put the phone to his ear. He would keep watch on her, but he wanted to give her at least a hint of privacy.

“Thanks Tony,” he told him, meaning it.

“She sounds bad,” the engineer murmured, sounding a bit bewildered himself.

“Worse than I’ve seen her, but she’s rallying.” Then because he deserved to know. “Pretty sure you helped.”

Then… “Thanks Clint. I’ll be here. Take care of her.”

“Always do.”

Click.

Flipping the phone closed, Clint rubbed at his arm. He wasn’t leaving the bathroom until she was done.

Fuck his life, if there was a safe way to get her to walk away from all of this—he needed to find it.

He didn’t save her life for someone to destroy her all over again.

 

_Extraction +2 hours_

Clint returned to the kitchen with her empty bowl, and walked right into a tense standoff between Steve and his bestie. Apparently they hadn’t moved past their earlier disagreement. Ignoring their glares, he set the dish in the sink. Getting Nat settled had worn him out, pissed him off, and left him worried as hell. They so did not have time for whatever this drama was.

“Problems?” he asked, leaning against the counter and taking a long drink of water. He wrestled with letting her sleep alone, but she was hurting and would be stiff as hell in the morning. Sleep was the absolute best thing for her, but she’d tapped her bracelet and told Friday she wanted to talk to Stark. Her phone rang less than a minute later.

So he left them to talk. He’d check in with her after he dealt with these two and took some meds for his fever and pain. He still had another ten hours or so before he was due for another antibiotic injection.

“It’s nothing,” Steve said abruptly, and stalked out of the kitchen leaving Clint alone with Barnes. He descended the stairs, his steps swift and then a door closed for the downstairs bedroom. There was a second bathroom down there.

Barnes sighed. “It’s not nothing.” The other man seemed torn, he glanced after Steve, then studied Clint. “You should rest. You are sweating again. Do you need me to look at the shoulder?”

“No, but I wouldn’t turn down an ice pack.” Giving Barnes some room, Clint shook out two pills from the pain meds. He split one of them into halves. He’d start with the half, and take the full after he made sure Nat could sleep.

By the time he’d swallowed the half, Barnes had the ice pack ready. “You should sit.”

“I intend to,” Clint told him, pouring a fresh cup of coffee to offset the sleepiness brought on by the edges. Barnes seemed to agree with him, he poured a cup for himself, and then followed him to the living room.

He waited for Clint to sit before he set the ice pack on his shoulder, with far greater gentleness than he’d slapped it on there before. The throb had dulled, and while it didn’t feel great—it didn’t hurt near as bad as it had the day before. So he’d take the improvement where he could get it.

Instead of stalking off to find Steve, Barnes sat in the other chair and stared at his coffee cup. His dark hair fell, shielding his face but it couldn’t disguise his body language. Tight shoulders curving down, almost hunched, and restless fingers as he tapped his organic hand against the side of the cup—Clint could almost see the aggravation and uncertainty radiating off the man in waves.

After a swallow of his coffee, he leaned back in the chair and put a booted foot against the table. He should just get over it and open Clint Barton’s home for wayward Russian assassins. Their motto could be bring them in broken—he could work with that. “Barnes…you need to talk about it?”

He chose the phrasing carefully. Nat never _wanted_ to talk about any of it. Need, though, was a far different beast. There were times when Clint _needed_ to know things and she would share. The reverse was true, when she needed to know something, he would do his damnedest to make it happen.

While he wasn’t altogether comfortable extending that branch to Barnes, he was less comfortable with not.

“Steve doesn’t understand,” Barnes answered, not looking up from his coffee as if he could find all the answers inside the java.

Ah, if only that were true…

“Well there’s a broad spectrum of things Cap probably doesn’t grasp, you want to narrow this one down for me? I’m on the clock.” Literally. He glanced at the time. Another twenty minutes and he’d check on Nat. If she was still talking to Stark, he might have to revisit having more of an opinion on what was going on with them.

Particularly after finding her sleeping on Steve the day before.

Yeah, no. He walked right past that thought and focused on Barnes again.

“I was always the one looking after Stevie,” the former Winter Soldier spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. “Always dragging him out of one scrape or another. Headstrong, he ran into everything straight on. Wouldn’t have understood patience or subtlety if it bit him on the ass. But he was good people, never malicious. Just…always had something to prove.”

Clint sipped his coffee, and settled in to listen. A great deal of what Barnes described could be applied to Cap today. The man had a centerline that didn’t budge, and he couldn’t stand moral ambiguity—except when it applied to one person.

“Sometimes…I had to let him get hit, even when I didn’t like it. ‘Cause if I kept bailing him out from the little hits…the stubborn ass would just keep digging in deeper. You know what I mean?”

“I am somewhat familiar with stubborn best friends who don’t know when to quit,” he responded, trying to keep it light.

Yet Barnes flashed him a small smile, then glanced at the open patio doors. The sun had gone down, but there was a breeze coming from the ocean and it was comfortable if a little cool. “I could never convince him to not do something he really wanted to do. He was so desperate to join the war effort—so damn determined to stand up for the little guy, even when he was the little guy. He let some damn scientist experiment on him. The next time I see him, he’s dragging my ass out of a camp where Zola did…started doing this to me.” He motioned to himself. “Steve signed up for it willingly, and overnight it was like he suddenly had the body to back up his bluster.”

“You mad at him?” It was an observation.

“Fucking furious,” Barnes spit, then shoot his head. “I wanted him safe at home, and instead he ends up in the front of hell every day. But…that’s another fight and not what’s going on now.”

“Okay.” Clint doubted it was anywhere near that simple, but he let it go.

“It’s just—he doesn’t understand what it’s like when you didn’t sign up for it. What it means when you are allowed no choices.” There it was. “He sees…he looks at me, and at Natalia…and he sees people he has to protect. Because we’re—because he cares, and because we’re victims.”

“Don’t tell Nat that,” Clint said with a wry smile. She’d go off and do something obscenely dangerous to prove just how much control she had over her life. Control, and choice—two of things the Red Room robbed her of. They were precious to her. Trust Barnes to understand a fundamental part of her so quickly.

“I won’t,” Barnes said as he jerked his head up, his tone and his stare decrying Clint as an idiot. Well, Nat often called him the same thing, so he could live with it. “But Steve…wants to bury what we found.”

“Excuse me?” Maybe he hadn’t heard that right.

“What he and I found at the facility.” Barnes chewed his lower lip. “He doesn’t want Natalia to know. Thinks…thinks it would be better for her to not know.”

“We’re not talking about the files are we,” Clint said slowly as he leaned forward and eased the ice off his shoulder.

“No,” the other man said slowly, and shook his head. “The files were in the basement—with the chair.” Disgust rolled around the last word, and Clint made a mental bookmark to return to that. “Steve and I cleared the main level, the labs…the medical ward, and the data room.” The normally empty eyes were haunted and deeply troubled.

That didn’t sound remotely like the so-called way station or stepping stone Tanya described. “Tanya lied.”

“Yes.” Barnes almost growled. “This was no way station.”

Clint considered whether to push or wait him out. Whatever they found, it had affected Barnes. Putting the ice back on his shoulder, he flicked a glance to the clock.

Ten minutes.

“If you found something…something that could hurt Natalia if she were told, something…something that might not affect her at all if she never knew—would you tell her?” Not the easiest of questions.

“Her whole life has been pain, Barnes.”

“That is not an answer,” Barnes argued, pushing up from the chair to pace. “Steve doesn’t want her to know.”

“That’s not Cap’s call.” It wasn’t Clint’s either.

“Is it yours?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you ever heard the phrase two men can keep a secret if one of them is dead?”

Barnes shook his head. “No, but the sentiment makes sense.”

Of course it did, it was cold, pragmatic logic. “Are you two the only ones who know about whatever you found?”

Another shake of his head. “The technicians are dead. The doctors as well.”

“But you don’t know if they were the only ones who knew.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, we don’t.” Interesting, he grouped Cap into the decision and the knowledge. Fair.

“Then you’re asking the wrong question.”

Surprise flickered across his face, and the man frowned his gaze searching. “What is the right question?”

“Will letting this ambush her hurt her more?” Because Clint would lay odds that whatever it was, letting whoever they were after tell her would be a hell of a lot more painful. The best torture was never just physical.

“You mean if someone could use it against her.” His frown became a scowl. “The way the Americans are using her past now?”

“Yes,” Clint nodded as he leaned forward and slipped the ice off his shoulder. “Can it hurt her?”

Barnes’ expression grew grave, which was an answer in and of itself. “I will tell her,” he said, and glanced toward the hall and the stairs leading up to the bedroom she was in.

“She was talking to Stark and she needed to sleep.” Rising, Clint set the ice aside. “You may have to wait until morning.”

“I will wait as long as it takes.” But he clearly wanted to charge up there right now before Cap could say anything or dissuade him.

Dammit, Cap should know better by now. Secrets could do a hell of a lot of damage, even when they were meant to protect oneself.

Awareness of Barnes’ stare followed him up the stairs. Pausing outside the door, Clint tilted his head to listen. Hearing nothing, he eased the door open but didn’t try to be quiet. Nat was too on edge, and he hadn’t taken her guns or her knives. But nothing flew at his face, nor did he find a gun pointing at him.

Instead, she gave him a weary smile. “Hey…”

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “How you doing?”

“Breathing in and out seems like an accomplishment at the moment.”

“It’s a good one,” he told her, and as much as he would like to leave Barnes and his deep, damn dark secret downstairs, he added, “Barnes needs to talk to you.”

Her face was so damn wan, and tired, but she nodded and pushed herself up in the bed. If it were possible, the bruises along her torso and arms looked even worse than they had in the shower.

“You feeling worse than you did?”

She shook her head.

“You lying?”

Impatience.

He waited.

She glared.

Yeah, he’d seen lots worse.

“Fine…it hurts. I barely want to move.” And she leaned against the pillows and sagged as if to prove a point.

“Any changes or just…more bruising?” She healed fast, but how the hell long would that mess take? She’d been ribboned in bruises and cuts after New York along with a nearly dislocated shoulder and more, and this was worse.

“Breathing is a little harder,” she admitted, then pushed herself up again to try and sit against the headboard. She was not moving well at all. Shoving away from the door, he was halfway to the bed before the awareness of Barnes having followed registered. The man needed a bell.

Yes, rule number two for recovering wayward assassins, bells should be worn unless they were on an op.

“How much harder?” It was hard to tell around how wan she was, but her lips weren’t blue. Did they have a pulse ox in the med kit?

Maybe?

She glanced at Barnes, then back to Clint. Miming taking a breath, she kept it shallow. “It’s…hard, can’t draw it all the way to my diaphragm.”

The dark red mark across her back flashed across his mind. Cracked ribs could account for the shallow breathing, but she said it was worse. Holding up a hand so Barnes would stay where he was, Clint glanced at Natasha. “Let me see…”

A tired sigh escaped her, she hated this. Hated being doctored or asked to account for how she was doing physically. He got that. He did, but…

With great care, she pushed down the blanket and lifted her tank top. The scar on her abdomen looked inflamed, but there was another heavy, red mark deepening to black across the mottled wreck of her abdomen. The fuck was …

“I did that,” Barnes exhaled, standing right next to him and Clint rolled his eyes. Okay next lesson for wayward assassins, boundaries.

“The explosion did it, James,” Nat said, dragging her tank down before tugging the blanket up. “It was an accident,” she assured him or Barnes or both. “It—threw us all and they were both trying to cover me.”

The mark on her back had to be Barnes’ arm. She got hurt because Barnes and Cap were looking out for her. Yeah, if she was that bruised with them covering her—she’d have been dead without them.

“It happens. We’re going to ice you…”

“In the morning,” she said. “I’ll do an ice bath in the morning.”

“Barton is right, Natalia…you need to ice that.” His concerned gaze had fixed on her, and since she looked worse than when Clint helped her shower, he couldn’t imagine what she looked like to Barnes. “I will get one for you…”

“James…” But he was already gone, and Nat looked at Clint.

“Hey, at least he didn’t throw it at you,” he said wryly. “When he treated me, he just slapped the ice right on.”

A faint smile creased her lips, and then her gaze went past him at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The cadence was off—

“Hey,” Steve said, but his expression shifting as he got a good look at Nat.

Clint raised a brow at Nat, but she shook her head. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Steve.” Yeah, she wasn’t even up to selling that line. It was definitely worse.

“I find that hard to believe. It looks pretty awful” Steve surprised him when he came to sit at the foot of the bed.

“You sweet talker. I might swoon.” Nat deadpanned, her delivery so perfect even Steve cracked a swift smile.

“You need anything?”

“I have ice,” Barnes announced as he returned with two large ice packs. Chances were they had no more ice in the freezer. He circled the bed to help place one of the packs between Nat and the pillow so she could lean against it, and then he laid the other across her abdomen. She ground her teeth, but managed to cast him a pained smile.

“Thank you, James.” That was new. Clint made a mental note to tease her about it later—when she looked less like a horror movie reject.

He nodded once, then split his attention first to Steve, then Clint, then back to Steve.

“You’re right,” Steve said, as though answering some unspoken question. Good, he’d come around on his own. “I—don’t like it. But you’re right.”

“Wait,” Nat said, holding up a hand. “First…I talked to Tony. We need to get him the thumb drive, but it’s a lot of data… too much to send over the net. So we need to get it to the chalet. Friday has an interface there, we can plug it straight into her.”

Not a fan of getting her up and moving so fast, Clint frowned. “We can be back at the chalet in a few hours if you want to pack it in now, but I’d rather avoid stressing your body anymore than you already have.” She _could_ heal, but she still needed time to do it.

“Tomorrow then?” Steve glanced between them, then focused on her. “How much time do you need?” He fidgeted, as if he wanted move closer than the end of the bed, but resisted. Good plan.

“You know…the last time I was in an explosion like…scratch that. I’ve never gone through something like that. Even Camp Lehigh didn’t have that kind of concussive force. So…I don’t know. Tomorrow is fine. I’ll sleep…” Then her lips twisted, and Clint heard the _if I can_ she didn’t add. “We can go tomorrow. I need to go through the stuff we got from the boxes…where is that?”

“You need to rest Natalia,” Barnes told her, his expression grave. “All of the files, tapes, and other data we took are in the bags, stored on the quinjet. I put them in your locker.”

Huh. Barton allowed himself a small smile. That was smart. They were secure, but not easily accessible. Less likely she’d go all the way up there to get them considering her state.

“Your files are in there, too.”

“My files have waited seventy years, they can wait a little longer.” Not a bad point.

“Fine,” she muttered, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “What is James right about, Steve?”

The friends looked at each other, and there was a kind of resignation in Steve’s eyes that bothered Clint. He’d worn that expression after he’d gotten them all out of the Raft, right about the time he revealed Barnes went back into the ice. The silence dragged, and Nat opened her eyes to look from one to the other.

When she glanced at him, Clint gave a slight shake of his head. He couldn’t quite interpret their body language. Finally, Barnes straightened; his shoulders, his posture, everything and he faced her as though waiting to salute.

Bracing himself, Clint kept an eye on Steve. His expression was nearly as grave, but his eyes?

Cap was furious.

This was _bad_ news.

At her raised eyebrow, Barnes said, “Within one of the medical wards was a morgue. Seven bodies—all recent, all female—six adults…one child. Recently deceased. They’d been…experimented on.”

And if they were in the morgue, those experiments had failed.

Clint’s stomach dropped out and Nat’s face went frozen. Yeah…Barnes had been right. She needed to know; Clint understood why Steve hadn’t wanted to tell her. Guilt flickered in Nat’s eyes. Prisoners had been taken from London—all female. Nat hadn’t gotten to them in time.

Fuck.

Her gaze snapped to Clint. “We’re going to Switzerland tonight…”

Yeah, he saw that one coming.


	29. I'm sending the package to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In New York, Tony Stark puts his plan for the Avengers and the Accords into motion while Spider-Man makes the news and an unexpected visitor pays a call.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_Just be ready, I'm sending the package to you._

Tony

 

 

Tony gazed out over New York as he buttoned the cuffs on his shirt. He’d managed a scant two hours of sleep before Friday woke him with the coffee maker hissing and a reminder to eat. He choked down some toast before making short work of showering and shaving.

Smoothing down the shirt, he picked off a piece of imaginary lint, and then swung on the suit coat. The charcoal gray color suited his mood. Much like the storm soaking the busy afternoon streets.

“How we doing Friday?”

“They are approximately fifteen minutes away, Boss. Colonel Rhodes is at the UN; he will be announced in ten minutes. We are within the margin for error.”

“And Vision?”

“The compound is secure. However, he requests you allow him to be present for this meeting.”

“Have him ready to assist Rhodey, but otherwise stay at the compound. They’re still pissed my lawyers beat theirs and they didn’t get Romanoff’s stuff.” And Tony had moved it all back to the compound. Sooner or later, Ross was coming for something she had. The more he learned about the man, the more he recognized an agenda beyond the Avengers or the Accords.”

The weight of his watch was a comfort, as was the nano-arc-reactor currently pressed against his chest. A modified photo static veil hid the illumination. He had an image to project.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he concentrated on keeping his breathing calm, and even. He couldn’t afford an episode today, or to lose his cool. His nerves were already on edge after the sudden warning about Natasha’s vitals, and the subsequent waiting game to make sure she was all right.

“Boss…Miss Romanoff wants to inform you they are on their way to the chalet and expect to be arriving within 90 minutes.”

“Is everything ready for them?”

“Yes, Boss. I had it restocked, and prepared as soon as they departed. The equipment you requested will be there first thing tomorrow, local time. We had some trouble sourcing models for both PAL and NTSC players. Security protocols are running at maximum, so the items will be blind dropped without contact required. There has been no intrusion on the system.”

“Keep an ear out,” he told her. Instead of sleeping or resting, Nat was flying. While he’d told her to call him after her shower, he’d been surprised when she had. She shared a few more details about the op, but for the most part she talked about inconsequential things. Like the ruins in the mountains, or the fact she preferred the warmer weather of Venice to the snow.

One mention of the chair they’d found.

One.

Having seen more of the footage Ross trotted out for the press, it made Tony’s stomach roil.

Then she’d shifted subjects and told him more about the boxes she’d found with her name on them and would he do her a favor. Of course, he’d do her a favor. Anything to penetrate past the hollow emptiness in her voice—even her laugh sounded like some fragmented distortion of her husky chuckle.

It kind of freaked him out.

And pissed him off.

_“Tony—there were tapes in there, old cassettes, micro cassettes—VHS and some CDs. I—I don’t know if I want to want to look at them…”_

_“…but you feel you should because they might have answers for you.” Yeah she hadn’t needed to explain that to him. Listening to his dad’s old recordings hadn’t been a picnic either. So he got it. “I’ll get Friday working on putting together the equipment you’ll need. It’ll be at the chalet as soon as I can get it there.”_

_“Thank you,” she murmured, and then she released a long sigh._

_“You should get some sleep.”_

_“I don’t think I can.” The unspoken_ I don’t want to risk it _hung off the end of her sentence._

_“So wanna hang out while I work?” He hadn’t slept in two days, but he could keep going._

_“Sure,” she sounded almost relieved. The fact he was getting emotion off her at all rattled him. But she didn’t need him rattled; she needed him to be Tony. So—he filled her in on the current progress of his new armor._

_They didn’t talk about Ross, Russians, or the ragged parts of themselves._

_He didn’t tell her he couldn’t find anything on Alexei Shokastov or get a line on Tatiana with the no last name. Or how he’d even hacked the cameras at the club in Prague until he’d found Nat, then tracked her until he could get screen shots of the woman who groped her—had to be Tatiana—and the men who flooded the club. He could tell the alpha dog in the group, so that had to be Alexei._

_Image searches turned up a frustratingly fat nothing._

_No, he didn’t tell her any of that. Instead he talked about the nano technology, the limitations and how he pushed them to excite the particle streams, improving flight stability and firing capability. He talked until she could hang up the phone._

_It still didn’t seem like enough._

“Boss, they are on their way up and Colonel Rhodes has been introduced to the committee.”

“It’s show time…”

The elevator dinged their arrival and Tony pivoted to face his guests as they strode across the cool tile of his living room. He’d elected to host the meeting here rather than an office as a very clear statement _._ They were on his turf.

Pepper exited first, dressed in her Dolce and Gabbana suit and pencil skirt with her power heels. They clicked a warning as she strode ahead of the others who’d ridden up with her. Tony allowed himself a fraction of a second to enjoy how well she’d adapted to the CEO. Not too long ago, she would have allowed their guests to precede her and acted more as an escort, or as his assistant, which she’d done for years.

It was a good lesson for everyone around them. Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries was a force to be reckoned with in her own right and they better damn well not cross her.

Tony wouldn’t stand for it. And finally, neither would she.

Behind her, the rest of their little gathering followed lead by Ross, acting as Secretary of State, Meghana Sharma, a delegate from India and a representative of the UN Committee for the Accords, Hunter Adrian, Deputy Chief of Staff for President Ellis, General William Gabriel, now a three star general, and serving as the representative for the Pentagon, along with Brigadier General Glenn Talbot, the head of the task force that handled SHIELD clean up, and finally, Dr. Geneva Sutherland, reportedly a representative for the EU, though her background with the CIA, MI6, NASA, and the DOD suggested it was a smoke screen. Her link to Russian counter intelligence, however, was why Tony wanted her present for the meeting.

He wanted to plant a few seeds and see what sprung up in Moscow.

“Ladies, Mr. Secretary, Generals…and oh and you too Hunter, good afternoon.” Tony motioned to the sitting room. “I took the liberty of ordering up some snacks, and we’re all adults, so feel free to help yourselves to the bar.” He caught Pepper’s warning look as he turned, and winked at her. “I’d offer to serve you myself, but then…I don’t want to.”

Someone snickered, but the sound was swallowed too quickly for him to identify who. He’d asked Friday, later. For now, he poured himself a drink. It was water with a little amber food coloring mixed in, but he’d set it aside in a glass decanter. “Private stash,” he told them. “You understand.”

After securing his bottle, he carried his tumbler over to take the only chair staged by itself, forcing his guests to choose the sofas laid out in a half circle.

“Stark, what’s going on?” Ross demanded, his impatience. “You think we have time to be hauled down to a meeting—at your tower—rather than you coming to us?”

“Well, you’re here aren’t you?” The smile Tony wore had been honed through countless board meetings, cocktail parties, and press functions. It was almost as effective as his helmet for keeping them out of his head. “You really should get a drink, Ross. You’re having a hell of a week.”

Good to remind everyone that Ross was all over the news, even if he kept trying to bury it with even bigger stories about Romanoff. The press wasn’t cooperating fully. But the ones Tony prodded with gently placed tips to make sure they kept digging had filled in the gaps admirably.

The man’s expression mottled, but it was Ms. Sharma that took over with a gentle, if firm chastising tone as she said, “Mr. Stark, I speak for the whole committee when I tell you that we are most appreciative of your continued cooperation.”

“Is that so?” He let his smile drift into a lazy territory. “Not feeling terribly appreciated at the moment.” Waiting a beat to let the statement float out there, he took a sip of his drink and made a show of setting it down. “In fact, I’m feeling rather persecuted despite my astounding levels of cooperation.”

“Mr. Stark,” Ms. Sharma said, her gaze concerned as she leaned forward and clasped her hands. The white knuckling gave away her genuine worry. “It is not our intention to persecute you, you—of all the Avengers—have been a model for the Accords.”

Ross could barely contain his snort of disgust, which earned him a quelling look from Hunter Adrian. Ah, trouble in paradise. But it was General Gabriel who cleared his throat before Ms. Sharma could continue, “Mr. Stark, you clearly brought us here for a specific purpose, what do you say we stop dancing and just get to the point?”

Gabriel still hadn’t forgiven him for getting out of the weapons business. But his desire to get Stark Industries back onboard made him useful.

“Actually, General,” Pepper stepped in neatly having recognized the opening it presented. “This meeting has been on the books for several weeks. It was scheduled as a follow up and pulse check after the Accords following their signing in Geneva.”

“Forgive me, Ms. Potts,” Talbot rasped in his brisk tone. “If this is a standard “check up” for the Accords why is it taking place here, in Mr. Stark’s penthouse rather than the UN with the committee or at the Pentagon—or anywhere other than a private residence?”

Two points to the general for keeping his question and attention directed at Pepper.

“Originally,” she answered with a cool, yet professional smile. “We planned to have the meeting at Stark Industries, but due to some ongoing security concerns regarding government overreach, it has been decided that we will keep a very clear line between Stark Industries business and the Avengers.”

“But Mr. Stark is both a part of the Avengers and Stark Industries,” Ms., Sharma pointed out coolly. “It would be difficult to separate them. You have even used many of Stark Industries resources for your Iron Legion, have you not?”

Well, he would have to give Ms. Sharma a little more respect in the future. She neatly folded that question in.

“Actually…” Pepper interjected, ready to tackle this particular piece of the puzzle. “Friday, if you would be so kind.” A holographic display appeared showing a clear delineation of assets between Tony Stark, and Stark Industries. “Mr. Stark remains the most prominent stockholder in Stark Industries, as well as the creative force behind our innovative technology, but what he creates is not the property of Stark Industries until he turns it over for distribution. As with the case of the latest StarkPhone, which I notice you use Ms. Sharma.”

The other woman straightened in her seat, and a more perfunctory expression replaced her pleasant demeanor. “Your point, Ms. Potts?”

“My point is—it is a mistake to operate from the point of view of a logical fallacy. While all of Stark Industries revolutionary developments are a product of Mr. Stark’s rather ingenuous brain, not all of his creations are the property of Stark Industries.”

“But Stark funds the Avengers,” Ross snapped. They’d been steadfastly ignoring him, and it irritated the already irked Secretary of State. “Stark Industries was housed in this building…where he housed the Avengers.”

“Initially, yes,” Tony returned to the fray. Ross needed to stay focused on him, aggravated with him. A tantalizingly ironic prospect considering Ross’ obsession with a certain giant green rage monster. “But that’s because I have all the coolest toys. I didn’t start the Avengers Initiative though.”

Ross snorted. “You approached me…” And there it was. Tony didn’t lean back or smile with the satisfaction like he wanted. “After Banner’s spectacular destruction in Harlem, and the incident at Culver University, _you_ came to _me_ about the initiative.”

“The Avengers Initiative was the direct brain child of Nick Fury,” Dr. Sutherland said, her cool voice like a whip cracking through the tension. Ross glared at her, and she looked remarkably unimpressed. “An amazing act of overreach and power maneuvering by an organization linked to beginning almost as many global terror operations as they stopped. Three of their primary members were employed by SHIELD—all three of which are currently fugitives under the Accords.”

“Romanoff should have been in a cell a long time ago,” Talbot argued. “And Nick Fury is dead, so it’s not like we can back up your claim with testimony.”

“It’s not a claim.” Sutherland turned her stony glare on Talbot. “Fury proposed the initiative to the World Security Council nearly a decade before Mr. Stark brashly declared himself Iron Man.” With a dismissive flick of her fingers, she pointed at Ross. “You know damn well he was—it’s why you were put in charge of the research program to rediscover the Super Soldier serum.”

And this was why Tony liked to bring people together. It made for great dinner theatre. He sipped his drink and met Pepper’s gaze, as she shook her head slightly even though her expression never changed.

She understood the stakes here.

“This is nonsense, and it’s all ancient history,” Ross declared, as he stood. “We’re here to talk about the failure of the Avengers under the Accords, in particular, you Mr. Stark. You’ve been stonewalling every level of the investigation.”

“Mr. Secretary,” Hunter Adrian spoke up. “Perhaps you should adopt a less combative tone. President Ellis has nothing but the utmost respect for Mr. Stark and his work as Iron Man. At this time, none of the evidence you’ve presented either to the DOD or to President Ellis’ office supports the assertions you have been peddling to the UN Committee.”

Sutherland cut a glance at him, and Tony raised an eyebrow. The woman was so buttoned down, he doubted he’d get much more out of her. The emptiness in her expression, however, didn’t come close to Nat’s. There was a hint of a twitch to Sutherland’s right eye, and she cut her gaze away, and stared frostily at Ross. And she wasn’t terribly gifted at covering up her dislike.

“Excuse me, Mr. Secretary,” General Gabriel cut off Ross before he could respond to Adrian or Sutherland. The red flush creeping up Ross’ neck promised he wouldn’t be forgiving the slight. “Tony…” Oh look, General Gabriel wanted to be friends. “Part of the Accords and oversight was about protecting you and the other Avengers as well. Soldiers who act independently of the command structure may not only violate international laws, but also leave themselves open for retaliation. We want to work with you, as we have in the past…and together, create a safer world. Isn’t that why you did it in the first place?”

“Making the world safer isn’t why I built you great bombs and missiles, General. I built them because I liked to blow stuff up—and because I was good at it. I stopped making them to make the world safer.” And on this point, he wouldn’t budge. Not even to keep distracting the minds present in this room while Friday kept the local cell towers overloaded with redirected traffic to delay potential messages. Not like he’d give them the Wi-Fi password so it was cell service or nothing. “As you may recall, Senator Stern wanted me to turn over the Iron Man suits and designs—he was Hydra, as it turns out, so you’re welcome for privatizing world peace and keeping a monster terrorist organization from touching my stuff.”

Adrian’s lips twitched. “General,” he said soothingly. “President Ellis agrees with Mr. Stark. At this time, Stark Industries continues to provide support on defensive measures to keep our military safe—but do we really need to build a bigger bomb? It only encourages the other side to build one even bigger.”

Talbot scowled, but Gabriel relented. Hard to keep pressing a point when the Commander-in-Chief wasn’t on your side. Of course, Ellis only had a couple of years left in office and then it could be a whole new ballgame.

Time to deal with that later.

“Thank you, Mr. Adrian,” Ms. Sharma stepped into the silence eagerly. “And I fear we have traveled far from the purpose of this meeting. Mr. Stark, I am aware of how much pressure the current investigations into the whereabouts of the Avengers including Captain Rogers, former Agent Barton, Mr. Lang, and Mr. Wilson as well as Ms. Romanoff have been to you.”

“Point of order,” Tony raised a finger. “Mr. Lang was never an Avenger. Not even sure where he came from.” But he could guess, however, opening the Hank Pym can of worms was not his problem today.

“Of course,” Ms. Sharma said with a swift smile. “Nor was the Winter Soldier—”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Tony supplied smoothly, almost as an afterthought. Dr. Sutherland failed to control her flinch or the way she cut her gaze to him. Well, that was interesting. Ross looked positively apoplectic. General Talbot frowned, but it was General Gabriel’s attention he wanted.

“Excuse me?” Ms. Sharma looked puzzled.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—World War II POW, member of the 107th, declared KIA in 1944. Crazy, I know, but Dad was a huge fan. And Captain America was dug out of the ice, and we had a hostile alien army charge through a portal about 300 feet that way,” he added, pointing upward. “So we’ve definitely seen crazier things. But I feel we should call things what they are…the Winter Soldier, the Hydra asset captured in Bucharest and detained in Berlin—was and is, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a certifiable American hero. His designation was given to him by the Hydra and later used by the Russian government he was forced to serve.”

Ms. Sharma blinked, her mouth opening and then closing again. So…interesting. They knew the Winter Soldier had been accused of bombing the signing in Geneva, and he’d been identified as James Barnes, but they’d left off his rank.

“It’s worth mentioning—and you may be interested in knowing—Barnes’ subsequent breakout of the Joint Terrorism Task Force headquarters took place following a series of trigger words delivered by a Colonel Helmut Zemo, a Sokovian special forces operative and spy—he went to a lot of trouble to frame Sergeant Barnes for the attack, and to use Hydra programming to attack members of my team—including Ms. Romanoff.” Tony dusted off his jacket, almost dismissively. “But you don’t have to believe me…Colonel Zemo is in custody right now. Give Everett Ross a call, they have all the evidence.”

“This is irrelevant,” Secretary Ross cut in again, glaring at Tony. Oh yes, the hate was swelling in him now. In a less serious situation, Tony might have chortled. “The Winter Soldier is a known terrorist with more than two dozen assassinations credited to him in the last fifty years—including your parents, Stark.”

The metallic click jangled as the trap closed. Too easy.

“Mr. Secretary,” Adrian declared as he rose to his feet, along with General Gabriel who joined him in rounding on the Secretary. Alienating Tony Stark was not good for business or for the government, and Ms. Sharma’s outraged expression joined the others.

“Excuse me,” Pepper announced as she rose, her voice pitching perfectly to cut through the din. “I believe we’ve all gotten off topic, and I would question Secretary Ross’s involvement in any further proceedings particularly in light of the clear malice he holds for Mr. Stark.”

“Now you wait just one damn minute…” Ross jabbed a finger in Pepper’s direction, but it was Adrian who smoothly stepped in front of it.

“Mr. Secretary,” he warned, then he glanced at Pepper. “I agree with Ms. Potts, it’s time for cooler heads to prevail. Mr. Stark, I’m sorry about your parents and … all of this.”

The others muttered something similar except for Dr. Sutherland. She watched the proceedings much as Tony was, and she hadn’t been remotely surprised by Ross’ announcement.

“I would say I accept your apologies, however, I don’t.” Tony stood, then drained his glass for effect. “And I’m going to demand an investigation into Secretary Ross.”

“On what grounds?” Adrian had apparently just heard the magic words, but then, that was why Tony wanted him at the meeting. The bad blood between the two men had been making circuits around DC gossip circles—it didn’t hurt that Adrian was currently dating one Dr. Elizabeth Ross, and Daddy didn’t approve.

“Until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t even aware that my parents’ death was the result of an assassination much less carried out with the Winter Soldier as the weapon,” he kept his voice cold and calm. No matter how much he got it intellectually, or how the last few weeks had opened his eyes to the facts—it still hurt like hell to talk about his mom in such banal terms. “It was a highly classified secret that not even SHIELD was aware of—the weapon used I mean, not the fact that they were assassinated.” He narrowed his gaze on Ross. “So I have to wonder, Mr. Secretary—how did _you_ know?”

Realization flickered in the other man’s eyes. He’d walked right into the land mine. Nat had been certain the only reason to film the heinous act had been to use it to control someone else. While Tony had gotten there on his own, he hadn’t really played it out to its full conclusion until she said, _“…you don’t take out such a prominent person and record it, unless you want to tell someone else that everyone can be gotten to.”_

“That’s classified Stark…” Yeah that answer wasn’t going to fly, and the others present seemed not only aware of it but were outraged by his attempt. Their voices climbed over each other, as they alternated between trying to adjourn the meeting and demanding Ross answer the allegations.

It was Talbot who latched onto Hydra. Gabriel who focused on the idea of persecuting a war hero who should at least have been brought home and evaluated for treatment. Sharma wanted to smooth the rough waters over because Ross had been a face for the Accords and the committee.

Adrian on the other hand appeared almost politely gleeful, because this might be stink Ross couldn’t scrape off. In the meanwhile, Pepper had quietly summoned security and they appeared to _escort_ their guests from the penthouse. Dr. Sutherland, however, stared at Tony with a measure of respect in her eyes before she too, allowed herself to be ushered out.

When the elevator doors closed, Pepper turned to look at him. “Are you _insane?_ ”

“Not that anyone has managed to prove yet,” he assured her, and stripped off his jacket.

“Tony…”

“I think that went well. At least we’ve let loose the dogs in Ross’ direction.” And with the discovery of the questionable files from London, maybe it would be enough to ask for his resignation. Neuter his power, and take him out of play.

“Tony,” Pepper stopped him with a sharp note in her voice. When he glanced at her and raised his brows, she folded her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?”

“You didn’t need to know Pep,” he assured her.

“We’re still friends…”

“Yes we are,” he told her firmly, and carried his glass to the bar. “Friday, get the coffee going. How is Rhodey faring?”

“The presentation to the committee went well, Boss. Colonel Rhodes reported they’ve asked for 48 hours to review the evidence, but for the time being Secretary Ross will be excused from the committee pending their findings.”

Perfect. Not quite sent to the pound, but definitely muzzled.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling the sleeves up. “Did you want some coffee Pep? I can send out for food. Afraid there’s not much to eat here now.”

“I’m fine, I need to get back to the office.” Disappointment edged around her exasperation, but Tony was familiar with letting her down and this time, it was crucial she be kept safe in plausible deniability. “Legal is still working on the deals for all the non-Avengers involved in Berlin.”

That would take care of Barton, who'd been retired, and Lang, who wasn't an Avenger in the first place.

“We’ve also made the last payment for cleanup of the damage done to the airport.”

“So you got the board to approve that?” He was impressed. “Didn’t think they’d want to.” In fact, he’d been prepared to use his personal funds to cover the final costs. It would help reduce the demands for reparations in the calls for the Avengers’ arrest.

“They weren’t thrilled, but your guarantee of the new StarkPad for this fiscal year, and the introduction of the auto-driven car has them feeling generous.”

“I’ll bet,” he said with a smirk. “And the other legal cases?”

She retreated to pick up her purse and briefcase, then gave him a worried look. “Are you sure you want to proceed with those? The lawyers already told you Wilson and Steve aren’t going to be even addressed until they show some signs of remorse. Wanda’s citizenship remains a question, and we’re already doing everything we can for Natasha—and with the number of countries involved, it’s a political nightmare. Do you really want to take on clearing…” Her breath caught, and tears shimmered in her eyes before she could blink them away. A relief, because he could barely handle his own emotions at the moment, a crying Pepper terrified him. “Tony, you said he killed your parents.”

“I’m aware,” he told her and concentrated on his breathing so the panic wouldn’t consume him. “And I’ve had time to accept that Sergeant Barnes was an unwilling tool used to deliver Hydra’s death blow. I don’t like it. I probably won’t ever forgive him. But I accept he didn’t act out of malice or desire.” It stung like hell, but he’d made what peace he could with that part. “Punishing him seems counter intuitive…I think losing seventy years of self-expression and determination among other things is punishment enough.”

Besides, after spending the limited amount of time with the guy he had—yeah, Barnes had been damaged enough. Tony refused to be a monster.

She shook her head. “Fine, I will keep legal on it. There’s no precedence for this, and maybe Hunter can help with a politics.” Not that she sounded terribly certain about that part.

“Give it a day, then reach out to General Gabriel,” Tony advised her.

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s really not been a fan since we rolled back the jerichos.”

“Not a fan of me, sure.” Tony smiled as he poured his coffee with hands that barely trembled. “But he’s a huge fan of the Howling Commandos. Had merchandise in his office back in the day—including a first issue Captain America comic book.”

“That’s _interesting,”_ she drew out the last word, and gave him a look. The look that reminded him she’d known him for a long time and nothing he did was ever truly by accident.

“Isn’t it though? The darnedest things you can learn about people.”

She walked over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Be careful. I don’t know everything you’re up to, and I probably don’t want to know. But be careful.” Then she moved briskly toward the elevators.

“Hey,” he called, spreading his arms. “It’s me.”

The doors opened smoothly for her and she stepped inside then turned to face him. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Then the doors closed and the elevator carried her away, leaving him alone again.

“Scanning for devices,” Friday announced. “Two located. One placed under the coffee table, and the other by the entryway. I’ve been jamming the signals since they were placed.”

Tony found the bugs. One was probably Sutherland’s, but the other was different. Talbot? Ross? Probably Ross. He dropped them both into a small box that doubled as a faraday cage. He’d pull them apart later to see who was behind the technology. “All clear then, baby girl?”

“All clear,” she confirmed.

He carried his coffee to the bedroom to get changed. The last several days he’d been putting out fires, he’d pulled together the disparate data on Ross and planted seeds in multiple ears. It would take time, but today he’d fired his first shot across the bow. Ross’ anger and arrogance were a bad combination—Tony should know, he had similar issues.

But it also meant he could exploit them.

“Boss, your guests have arrived at the chalet.”

“Give me a full physical scan on Ms. Romanoff and the rest,” he said as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans, and changed into an old Led Zeppelin concert shirt. Huh, he’d have to ask Natasha if she’d ever gone to any concerts back in the seventies. There were some wicked cool bands he’d have loved to have seen when they were still touring.

“Boss, respiration continues to be shallow, heart rate still above average, blood pressure 140 over 80. Readings indicate cardiovascular instability, and scans show cracked ribs, as well heavy fluid build up around several organs in addition to skin injuries and swelling.”

A display flickered on the wall, and the outline indicated red zones all over her torso with some darkening to purple across her abdomen and back. Her legs were similarly orange and red.

“Hypertension is a concern, but this may have been caused by the fluid shifts in and around her organs.”

“How the hell is she walking?” Tony demanded.

“Unknown, Boss. There is some improvement to the base readings observed over the intervening hours. Mr. Barton is showing signs of distress, localized to a gunshot wound to his shoulder. No signs of broken bones. His respiration and pulse, however, are within acceptable ranges. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes appear to only have minimal injuries.”

“Keep monitoring Friday, let me know if we need to bring in a specialist.” Tony could probably convince Helen to go or at least let him bring Natasha to her; it would be convincing Natasha that was the problem.

“On it.” Then she added, “Boss, you’ve been awake 52 hours and you require more sleep.”

“I can sleep on the way to Switzerland,” he told her, even if he didn’t intend to take advantage of it. “I’ll take one of the jets…”

“Boss, Spider-Man is on the news.”

Tony just stopped and bowed his head, then blew out a long breath. The news flickered on the screen and a news anchor said, “Spider-Man swooped in, heroically saving an Academic Decathlon team from Queens. The identity of the masked hero is still unknown.”

“Colonel Rhodes is calling,” Friday detailed. “As is Mr. Aldon from the committee.”

Of course they were.

“Friday, track Karen and get a report on Peter.” The news had great footage of Peter doing a somersault off the Washington Monument and over a helicopter, before he dove through a small access window.

“Rhodey first, and tell Mr. Aldon I’m looking into the issue and I’ll call him right back.” He massaged his forehead as he left the bedroom, barefoot and coffee in hand.

“Boss—” Friday interjected without connecting the calls. That was unusual enough, Tony paused, apprehension slithering along his spine. “There’s a Matt Murdock in the lobby requesting to speak with you on a matter of some urgency.”

“Who the hell is Matt Murdock?” The name didn’t sound remotely familiar.

“An attorney, I’ve verified he is a member of the New York State Bar Association.”

Irritated, he shook his head. “Tell him if he’s looking for a job to contact Stark Industries…”

“…Mr. Murdock has indicated this is a private matter to be discussed with you personally.”

“Give me a window, Friday.” He pivoted to view the holo-display she put up with a view of the lobby. The man standing there was rather nondescript, dressed in an inexpensive suit, a briefcase in one hand and a…what the hell was that? A cane? No, a walking stick. Sunglasses. Walking stick. Whoever the hell Murdock was, he was blind. Three members of the security detail observed him calmly, and there was no one else in the lobby.

He really didn’t have time for this.

“Have Mr. Murdock make an appointment, and I’ll consider meeting him. In a week or two.” Tony didn’t remove his attention from the screen as the message was relayed. The blind man shifted his stance, it was a small thing—but Tony had seen both Barton and Romanoff react similarly when aware of surveillance. Turning his head slightly, Murdock almost seemed to “look” in the direction of the camera. He faced away from the guards, but his lips moved.

“What did he say?”

Friday waited a beat before announcing, “He didn’t _say_ anything boss.”

“Roll the footage back, analyze his lip movements…”

Friday performed the task, the image replaying as an analysis decorated the screen.

“Lip movements indicate Mr. Murdock said, _Tell him this is regarding Natasha Romanoff and he wants to take this meeting.”_

Did he now?

Rhodey on the line. The committee waiting for his assessment. Peter in Washington. Nat in Switzerland. Sure, he had time for someone he’d never heard of to pull the Black Widow card.

“Invite Mr. Murdock up to the common room on 85. Tell him to get comfortable. It will be a minute…and Friday?”

“Pulling all available data on Matthew Murdock.”

“Good girl, now get Rhodey on the line.”

Then without taking his gaze off Murdock, he took another swallow of coffee. Not for the first time, he wished alcohol was back on the menu.

“Tony…” Impatience punched up both syllables of his name. Rhodey’s worry at the delay as palpable as if he were standing in the room.

“Honeybear, I heard you were _spectacular_ at the UN. Come on, tell me all the nice things you said about me…”


	30. Stay close, check in. Don't take any chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Bucky, and Clint face some tough truths about each other, Nat, and themselves. Back in New York Matt Murdock takes a risk to bring some crucial information to Tony.

Chapter Thirty

_Stay close, check in. Don't take any chances._

Steve

 

Steve closed the door behind him quietly. Natasha had finally fallen asleep. A part of him wanted to stay in the suite with her, but he needed to change, check on Bucky and then come back to her. He worried if he lingered too close, he might roll over or brush against her, and hurt her.  He worried more about staying away. She’d refused to be carried onto the quinjet in Venice, and it had been agonizing to endure her slow climb of the stairs to the roof, and finally her shuffling step to board.

He and Bucky had taken care of closing up the apartment, and loading the medical supplies and their gear—including Nat’s tact suit and her weapons. It wasn’t until Steve landed the jet near the chalet that he realized she hadn’t slept. A blanket of snow lingered on the ground around the house, which seemed to make some decision for Buck.

Without a word, he’d wrapped Natasha in a blanket and lifted her off her feet and into his arms. She’d glared and said something harsh in Russian, but he’d given her a smirk and kept right on walking. Steve hadn't been proud of the flush of jealousy roiling in his gut. 

“Well, how about that?” Barton had muttered and Steve kept a watchful eye on him as they made their way inside. After getting both settled, he and Buck had taken care of the offloading. Friday updated them on the fresh supplies ordered in, as well as additional medical supplies. Tony had thought of everything.

Then Steve had given in to the desire to check on her, and he'd stayed until she could go to sleep. Nat was the toughest person he knew, and at the moment, she seemed as fragile as spun glass. He promised himself he wouldn't leave her for long.

Downstairs, Steve followed his nose into the kitchen. Buck stood at the stove, stirring something into a large pot. “There’s beer,” he said, motioning to the fridge. “Barton finally took the rest of the pain meds, and went to sleep.”

“Good,” Steve said, weary in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. How is she?” After Bucky carried her in, he’d left her to get ice and then left her with Steve. The last part surprised him, but Steve didn’t want to push. Bucky had been acting off since they’d realized how badly Nat was hurt.

“Sleeping,” Steve answered, pulling out a beer. He didn’t recognize the brand and he didn’t much care. Alcohol had no effect on him, but he found himself wanting a drink nonetheless. “What are you making?”

“Solyanka,” Bucky said. “I think.” He hesitated, a frown digging deep grooves in his forehead. “Pretty sure it’s solyanka. She’ll like it.”

Another swallow of beer as Steve tried to process that part. “You’re remembering?”

“No more than I did before,” Bucky answered, turning to glance at him. “I wrote about her in the journals.”

“I know,” Steve told him, ratcheting down the cramp in his gut. He wanted Bucky to remember, to be able to heal, and at the same time…it was Nat. What were the odds that Steve would fall for a woman and she’d be the same one Bucky wanted? Beyond the irony of his life—he had to admit. Nat was his type.

God was she his type…but she was Steve’s too. Shuttling that all to the side, he focused on Bucky. The raid on the base had been traumatic for Nat, but he hadn’t missed Bucky’s reactions—not in the morgue, and not when they got to that hellish chair.

“When I was reading them in Venice…I remembered dreaming about her—but I didn’t know it was _her_.” He moved away from the large pot, where the red soup—maybe, Steve wasn’t sure what solyanka was—simmered. “After D.C. I went to the Smithsonian and I read about you. Watched the movies. Read about me. Didn’t feel like it was me, though. Couldn’t…couldn’t remember. Then, I went to New York.”

Yeah? “Brooklyn?”

A nod. “The exhibit said we were born there.”

“We were.” It hurt to miss his best friend when he stood right in front of him. It hurt to miss him at all, because Bucky was there, he’d survived. It hurt to resent him about Nat. To resent whatever this connection was they had. It wasn't fair to either of them. Neither of them should have to bear the burden of Steve needing them to be anything other than they were. “We lived in the same building, for a while.”

“I don’t…I kind of remember that now, but I didn’t then. Nothing looked familiar. Didn’t feel familiar.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward in a wry smile. He dropped the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin before opening the fridge and taking out another.

“It doesn’t look like it did,” Steve admitted. “Most of the buildings are there, but they’ve been updated or repaired. The businesses have changed. It’s really expensive now. Nat called it…urban revitalization. Making an area trendy.”

Bucky shrugged. “I left. Made my way to Europe.”

Steve almost wanted to ask how, but that part wasn’t important.

“Europe felt more familiar.” The revelation stung. “But I dreamed about her when I was in Paris. Didn’t know it was _her_ , then. I couldn’t—I couldn’t see her face. I just knew she was important.” He tipped the bottle up and drained it.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve didn’t have the adequate words to describe it.

“When we found her in the basement…” He stared into the distance, as if he could see the scene all over again. So could Steve. She’d been frozen, paler than he’d ever seen her, and her mouth open like she’d been screaming, but there was no sound.

It was worse than when she’d attacked in Vienna.

He’d seen her in the middle of bloody fights, and never seen Nat look… _terrified._

“For a moment,” Bucky continued, licking his lips once. “I wasn’t…me anymore. I was…I was there and I was in that chair and they were taking everything away from me. Everything. I couldn’t see past the moment the white noise went away and I woke…but I knew they’d taken it.”

Heart hurting for Buck, he met his agonized gaze.

“And all I wanted to do was make sure that never happened to her and she said…she said she knew that chair. Steve…they did it to her, too. They stripped it all away.”

Yeah. He’d gotten that. “I know. Dr. Erskine asked me once…the night I met him, if I wanted to kill Nazis. And I said, I don’t wanna kill anyone. I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

Bucky snorted a little, and his eyes went cold. “I want to kill them.”

“I want to kill the people that did this to you and to her.” Steve told him, and the words cost him nothing. “I don’t care why they did it, I don’t care about their excuses or their reasons. They need to die.”

“You know, most of them are probably already dead.” The dry observation carried the weight of grief.

“Not all of them,” Steve pointed out before he took a long swallow of the beer. “Or that place wouldn’t have still been active.”

Neither of them brought up the man on the PA. Steve hadn't forgotten his voice. He committed it to memory. That man was going to die. He would never let him near Nat.

“True.” His best friend raked a hand through his hair, and then glanced at the solyanka. “I didn’t realize she wasn’t killing them.”

“What?”

“When we went in,” Bucky said slowly. “She took down all those guards, and those technicians. She wasn’t killing them.”

Neither had Steve, but… “You were?” Admittedly, Steve had been amped, worried about both of them.

Another shrug. “They didn’t deserve compassion. If I didn’t know it going in, what we found in there confirmed it.”

As much as he wanted to argue the point, Steve couldn’t.

More, he didn't want to fight with Bucky. Not anymore. Not after everything that had been done to him, or to Natasha for that matter.

“I dreamed about her, and I’m still pretty sure it’s her.” Bucky's voice went wondering as he drifted to his original tale.“But do you want to know the horrible truth?” Was there more?

“No, but tell me anyway.” Because if he could alleviate even a little of Bucky’s burden, he would.

“I couldn’t remember what she looked like. My Natalia—I can imagine the silkiness of her skin, I can see her vivid red hair like fire against snow, I can almost smell her, a sweetness beneath the blood and the darkness. Then I look at Natalia—Natasha. I _want_ it to be her, but I can’t remember for certain. The _only_ thing I know…she was the one thing I ever wanted.”

Steve’s heart sank.

“Then someone took her away. I couldn’t find her.” He lifted a third beer bottle as if saluting. “And now…I don’t even know if I have found her. How messed up is that?”

“We’re going to find answers.” If they had to tear it all down. They were going to find them.

“We’re going to be risking her if we keep looking,” Bucky said slowly.

“Do you want to stop?” Steve doubted it, and he knew for damn certain Nat wouldn’t.

“Yes,” Bucky said. “But I won’t. Because they won’t.”

“She won’t either.”

“I know.” A poignant sadness clung to those two syllables. “She heals, right?”

“Yeah. But I’ve never seen her this beaten up.” Steve shook his head.

“We landed on her…”

They both shared a wince, then Steve actually laughed a little. “Well, you landed on her, I kind of landed on you.”

“Yeah, you’re heavy.” The deadpan delivery pulled another smile. “The blast hurt, though.”

“She’s alive,” Steve said, needing to cling to that fact. He set the empty bottle down, a flash of chain around Buck’s neck catching his gaze. “Your tags.”

The other man touched them almost self-consciously. “I didn’t want to leave them behind.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s—it’s better than fine. They’re yours.”

“Even if I can’t remember who I was yet? Even if…I’m not him?” The lost note in his voice tangled with the need for reassurance amidst doubt.

No longer content with the separation, Steve closed the distance and braced a hand on Bucky’s good shoulder. “Listen to me…you are my best friend. You may not be the man I knew growing up, but he’s still a part of you. And I’m with you to the end of the line Buck…whether you’re James, Bucky, Barnes—or whoever it is you decide you’re going to be.”

A sheen of tears covered his eyes, and Bucky gave him a pained, if shy smile before he said, “You had to go and get mushy, didn’t you punk?”

Steve laughed, and blinked away his own tears. “Just calling it like I see it.” He gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze, then drew back and made a point of sniffing at the soup, stew…solyanka thing. “You sure this is going to be safe to eat?”

Bucky shoved him, making a face. “It’s not for you.”

“Oh, I see. Just one upping me with a dame.” The teasing felt familiar, it was familiar, and it eased the claustrophobic stranglehold.

“Thought we weren’t supposed to call her a dame.” The tease sounded like Bucky, and his half-smile grew. “And there are rumors I used to be good with dames. At least…I think I was.”

Then Steve groaned. “I am so going to regret this.”

“What?”

“You were more than good with the ladies,” Steve told him, his ears heating. “There was this one time…”

 

Matt

 

Waiting in the quiet lounge area of Avengers Tower for Tony Stark to grant him an audience, Matt stood with his head angled slightly down as he listened. Stark was on another floor, talking on the phone. The AI that had greeted him, offered music and a drink while he waited, Matt declined both. He had wrestled with whether to come to the tower for several days, but recent developments and Foggy demanded he get off his ass.

The elevator’s motion alerted him to the impending arrival after he’d cooled his heels for over an hour. When it opened, Tony Stark strode into Matt's 360-degree spatial awareness. Arrogance overlaid the man’s physical actions, but his heart rate and respiration increased upon his arrival. He was nowhere near as comfortable or confident as he tried to appear.

“Mr. Murdock, was it?”

“Mr. Stark,” Matt said, inclining his head. He didn’t offer a hand, Stark’s reputation for preferring not to be handed things or being touched preceded him. “Thank you for finding time to speak to me in your busy schedule.”

The billionaire paced into the lounge, taking a position on the other side of the coffee table. He slid his hands into his pockets, a hint of metal shifting as if a piece of his armor had been slipped over his fist. Iron Man exerted caution when meeting a stranger. Matt couldn’t blame him.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Stark spoke, and he leaned a bit to the right as if trying to get Matt to adjust his focus. Used to such antics from those who felt the need to test the boundaries of his blindness, Matt only shifted his head slightly as if turning an ear to him. “I don’t know you, and you show up trotting out Natasha Romanoff’s name like it means something to you. You get five minutes. Make it worth my while.”

“Word on the street has a contract offered for the capture of Natasha Romanoff in the sum of fifty million dollars.” He stated, and let the information linger a moment. Stark said nothing, but his pulse jumped. “Please note the contract stipulates capture, not kill.”

“Specific,” was all Stark said.

“Precisely. Gunrunners operating out of the Port of New York were cleaned up in a raid recently, their contraband impounded, and a large number of their men arrested.”

“Fascinating. Are we arriving at a point soon? You have about three and a half minutes.” Stark affected a bored tone, but his body chemistry betrayed his curiosity.

“The operation was primarily Russian,” Matt continued as if Stark hadn’t spoken, and the other man’s fidgeting ceased. “Including at least one retired SVR and two former KGB agents.”

Yes, he definitely had Stark’s attention.

“Their conversation regarding Natasha Romanoff was illuminating.” And it had haunted him since he’d heard it. “The contract traces back to sources in Russia directly. This operation and others like it were gearing up to provide covert transport for the cargo. No one actually believes she’s in the States, but they want all avenues of potential escape covered. Some expect her to return here because of the Avengers. Others think she’ll avoid it. But this isn’t limited to a localized effort, it’s worldwide.”

“Russian mobsters—gunrunners—told you about their plans? Forgive me, Mr. Murdock, exactly how are you connected to them?” Searching for an agenda—the rumors were true, Stark understood how the game was played on all levels.

“I wasn’t _told_ anything. But I didn’t have to speak to them in order to overhear the conversation.”

“So they just talked about it over dinner at Junior’s and you were in the next booth?” Disbelief echoed in his scoff, but his posture shifted to something more restless as he paced to a bar and poured himself a drink.

Water from the lack of scent.

“You’d be amazed what people reveal in front of a blind man.” Stark probably wouldn’t appreciate how much he was giving away right now. Despite his alignment with the Accords, he was protective of Natasha. Matt wouldn’t share he was the one to break down the operation, nor that he’d overheard many such conversations as he staked out their hideouts. The Accords made Matt uncomfortable and so far, they hadn’t targeted anyone outside of the Avengers and Matt would prefer to keep it that way. Anonymity protected his friends.

“Not so much that I’m going to just accept your word that an operation you claim is already shut down is a part of some global conspiracy to capture the Black Widow for a hefty reward.” Stark snorted. “People are hunting Black Widow, and in other news, water is wet.”

“You’re right to be skeptical, Mr. Stark. I was uncertain what to do with this information—Miss Romanoff—Natasha has a lot of enemies. What motivated me to reach out, however, was the involvement of Piotr Ivanovich.”

“You’re down to 30 seconds, and pretending you and Natasha are on a first name basis is just pissing me off, so who is Ivanovich and why do I care?”

“Because he’s the grandson of Ivan Petrovich.”

Stark’s pulse jumped, confirming his closeness with Nat. He knew who Ivan Petrovich was, and Matt damn well knew she didn’t share that story with everyone. “And you know this how?”

“Like I said, the Russians talked. Ivan’s a ghost story to a lot of them. A dark boogeyman, the man who held the leash of the Black Widow. Piotr is trading on that name, and he’s making an impression. Rumor has it, he knows exactly how to leash her again.”

Stark’s harsh indrawn breath further confirmed Matt came to the right person.

“How do you know so much about Natasha?” Then he added, “And are you bringing this to me in hopes of earning fifty million for yourself?”

Matt laughed. “Mr. Stark, I’m not going to dignify that insult. My relationship with Natasha…it was and is personal.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.” Stark’s pacing took on an edge of agitation. “Friday, do a check and see if you can track down this Piotr Ivanovich.”

“On it Boss.”

“You’re her friend,” Matt said, believing it as a certainty now. “After the issues with the Accords, I had to wonder and the press hasn’t been nice about her. Natasha has her issues, but she doesn’t deserve this witch hunt.”

“No she doesn’t,” Stark agreed with him.

“If Ivanovich really does have a way to turn her—to trigger her. I don’t want him finding her.” Killing him would have solved the problem, but Matt had been working on restraint and Ivanovich had gotten damn good at hiding especially after the waterfront raid.

“You really care about her?” Surprise colored Stark’s words.

“She saved my life,” Matt admitted. “She didn’t have to, she didn’t even know me at the time, and it was a hell of a risk for her to take. But she did it. Let’s just say I owe her.” When he’d asked her for help, she’d always come through for him. Sometimes, when he didn’t ask. And even if their relationship had been doomed from the start, he still cared about her.

“She does that.” The rueful admiration and the relaxing of his pulse told Matt Stark would run with the information. He’d done what he could for her. “If you _hear_ anything more…”

“I’ll make sure to call.” Matt offered his hand this time, and Stark gripped it once with a perfunctory shake before he released it.

Though he knew exactly the distance he’d traveled from the elevator to the lounge area, Matt used his walking stick. The more harmless Stark believed him to be, the less interest the billionaire would take in him. Coming here had been a horrible risk; Stark wasn’t shy about wanting to know things or digging into the lives of others.

“Mr. Murdock…” Stark said as he reached the elevator.

Matt paused, canting his head to the side to listen but he didn’t turn around. Stark hadn’t moved from where Matt had left him.

“Thank you.”

The elevator doors opened and Matt stepped inside. “You’re welcome.”

Once he was outside, the sounds of New York washed over him. Beneath the hum of vehicles and sirens was the pulse of the people—laughter, conversation, cries, and fear. He needed to get back to work. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had done what he could for the Black Widow.

Hopefully Iron Man could do more.

 

Bucky

 

 

Talking to Steve helped, Bucky needed to ground his thoughts back in the present. Particularly when all he wanted to do was go up and sit in Natalia’s room where he could watch over her. He wasn’t entirely certain that would be welcomed by her, and she needed to rest.

When Steve suggested they head up to get some sleep, he’d agreed and waited until Steve disappeared into his own room before digging out his journals—and the files Natalia had found. Hers were in the bags, as well, but he only took his own.

“Friday?” He said, glancing at the ceiling.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“I’m going to take these downstairs to work. Is that going to be a problem?” Granted they’d been gone only a handful of days, but there had been rules when he was there previously.

“No, Sergeant Barnes. Boss didn’t indicate the lockdown remained in effect.”

Bucky hesitated a moment. Stark had done a lot for Natalia, and continued to do a lot for all of them. This was his home. “Please let me know if that changes.”

“Of course.”

After making sure the rest of Natalia’s files and tapes were stored in the closet, he made his way out of the shared suite with Steve. He’d just arrived at the bottom step when he caught the sound of movement, and followed it quietly. Steve made his way up the secondary stairs. He’d changed into a tank top and sweatpants, and his feet were bare.

He was going back to Natalia’s room.

Bucky had no doubts.

At the top of the steps, Steve glanced down at him. “Buck?”

“It’s okay, Stevie,” he kept his voice low, aware that Steve could hear him the same way he could hear Steve. “Go take care of our girl.”

A red flush crept over the man’s face, and Bucky smiled. Oddly, it wasn’t a struggle. Did he want to have earned the same place in her life that Steve already seemed to occupy? Yes. But he wouldn’t begrudge his best friend being there for her either.

The Soldier didn’t like it however.

“You okay?”

“Need to work, and think,” Bucky said, touching the journals. Glad the files weren’t visible. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Steve hesitated though, but Bucky didn’t let him have the excuse. He retreated, promising himself he’d see Natalia in a few hours. The Soldier slowed their steps long enough to listen for whether Steve followed or continued on to Natalia’s room.

He’d said nothing to Bucky about not sleeping in their suite. Then again, Buck hadn’t said anything to Steve either.

The Soldier wanted to follow, to station himself in Natalia’s room until she was well enough to protect herself. Probably why Steve had gone. Both Barton and Natalia were injured, and the suite Stark put Steve and Bucky in was in a different wing of the house.

In the kitchen, he took the time to check on the solyanka, then make coffee. When he had a hot cup, he moved everything to the table nearest the window. The lines of sight were not great on this side of the house, and the glass was reinforced. After placing a pen next to the journals, he reached for the first folder and opened it.

His intake was how Natalia described it. What he found was a brutal, cold, and very clinical descriptions of the day he was found at the bottom of a gorge in the Alps. The subsequent exodus as they dragged him to a base—one notation indicated they weren’t sure of whether he was worth keeping alive, only he had refused to die.

It was almost like reading about another person. The Soldier looked for tactical details while Bucky searched for some evidence of his humanity. It took a full week before they realized he was James Barnes, a Howling Commando, and also on a list of sought assets leftover by Zola.

Eventually, Barnes was repatriated to a base listed only as Rot Eins—Red One. How original. At Rot Eins, his arm was treated, though he had already healed enough to stay alive. A concussion had left him with a mild form of amnesia, though they suspected he’d played stupid.

A dozen escape attempts were documented. The Soldier approved of the will of the man to continue trying. Finally, orders came down to prepare him for combat. More tests, the placement of the prosthetic arm, and drills with weapons. It listed each of their accomplishments as a done deal rather than indicating how they got there.

His first trip to the chair was not in 1944, however, according to the records—he’d been subjected to it in 1943.

When Zola had him. When Zola filled his veins with his version of the serum, he’d also begun laying down the mental landscaping required for full control. By the time his captors in ’44 used the chair, they had a framework to build within. The documents indicated nearly two dozen visits to the chair to achieve the first round of compliance required to proceed with neural implantation.

The file ended in ’45.

Nothing described within those pages triggered any memories. Despite the file’s cut off in ’45, Bucky knew he’d been at the base in Azzano at least once. And he’d been in the chair there—at least once. Yet the file didn’t seem to list a location beyond Rot Eins for his mental reconditioning.

Reconditioning.

Sadistic bastards.

Having finished his coffee, he took the time to refill the mug before continuing to the second file. The psychological profile of James Buchanan Barnes as detailed by a doctor Hans Odermatt, a protégé of Zola. The Soldier studied the details closely, aware of his mission to locate James Buchanan Barnes even if neither he nor Bucky could seem to close their grasp on him.

 

_Soldier X continues to resist conditioning by reciting grounding data such as detailed birth name and serial number. In responsive dream states, he speaks often of Steven Rogers, aka Captain America. Solder X employs deceptive techniques to win the assistance of guards, and other medical staff. Repeated escape attempts indicate a strong personality, resistant to domination. In order for the framework to be completed, the personality must be fully deconstructed._

 

Page after page indicating he enjoyed women, music, and dancing. He intended to become an engineer, and had in fact earned a degree in the field though he preferred to keep the information private. His family and friends were unaware of his studies. Barnes profiled as a fierce protector. One recommendation advised providing him someone to bond with or to protect, and then use the individual as leverage.

The Soldier clenched his metal fist. The details continued, they seem to have used Barnes’ attempts to engender sympathy from his guards to learn more details about his personality. He was quick of wit, enjoyed a joke, and exhibited some mild addictive traits.

He’d smoked. Bucky looked up and all of a sudden, he wished he had a cigarette. The need for it burned through him and he could almost taste the tobacco on his tongue. Trading cigarettes for stories with the guards.

“Friday? Is there a place I can go buy cigarettes?” He hadn’t smoked since Bucharest, and now that he’d thought of it. He wanted one badly. Almost as badly as he had when he’d picked up a pack in a corner market on a whim.

“I can order some to be delivered,” Friday offered. “We have a delivery coming this morning and they can be included. Do you have a preference for a brand?”

“No, just whatever…not menthol.”

“I will take care of it Sergeant Barnes.”

“Thank you.” It really wasn’t as weird to thank a computer as he’d thought at first.

“You’re welcome.”

The craving would be satisfied soon. For now, he concentrated on his reading.

 

_Soldier X refuses to believe involuntary service is permanent. Optimistic outlook suggests he expects rescue to arrive any day, even after months of incarceration. First breakthrough in reconditioning achieved when news stories of Captain America’s demise were introduced into Soldier X’s reading material._

 

His throat went dry and his mouth tasted of ash. They’d used reports of Steve’s death as a way to break him. The profile indicated a deep depression settled over the subject, and he was less prone to laughter. Subsequent visits to reconditioning assisted in making him more malleable.

 

_Soldier X seems to have accepted his fate and that no rescue is imminent._

The file ended with his designation to the Winter Soldier being achieved, his compliance noteworthy and ready for deployment. No other pages followed the last, and a search of the first file, made similar notes.

Whatever they’d done to achieve his compliance had been completed by 1945—fifteen months after he’d been taken. Fifteen months to break, and kill Bucky Barnes and leave only the Soldier in his place.

Then after… was as blank in the files as it was in his own memory.

Bucky sat for a long while before picking up a journal, and turning to a blank page. He tried to sort out his feelings on what he’d read, to put it into context with the fragmented memories he already possessed. It wasn’t until Friday warned him the delivery was arriving, and if he heard noises to not be concerned that he looked up from the journal. The deliverymen would leave the equipment, and other items in the front mudroom, the inner doors sealed against their entry and Friday monitoring.

“Can I see?” He slipped a hand to the gun holstered at his side.

“Of course.”

A holographic display opened, showing him a truck approaching the front of the chalet. The snow had been plowed from the drive. Two men stepped out of the truck after it parked. They circled to the rear of the vehicle, and Friday changed the camera angle accordingly. The men were in their mid-30s to mid-40s, one was slightly overweight, with a heavy beard and a runny nose—maybe from the cold. The other was a couple of inches taller and likely 50 pounds lighter.

Neither was armed.

They laughed and joked with each other.

Moved like civilians, not military.

They removed two large boxes and a bag from the rear of the truck.

When they approached the front door, one door opened to allow them to place the items inside.

They didn’t step into the house.

Bucky didn’t relax until the front door sealed, the men left in their truck, and Friday announced the main gates had closed behind them. She also showed him where to find the items. He carried the boxes inside after Friday assured him they contained no explosives or threats.

Leaving the equipment in the kitchen, he opened the pack of cigarettes and fished out a lighter, then stepped out onto the snowy patio, and ignored the cold as he lit up.

The first drag raked through his lungs, and he exhaled it with a sense of relief. The door behind him opened, and he spun, hand dropping to the gun and then freezing at the sight of Natalia raising a brow as she stepped out into the snowy deck.

“You made solyanka?” Surprise colored her voice.

“Yeah,” he said, motioning toward the kitchen. “Started it after we got here. It’s had plenty of time to stew.”

“It smells wonderful.”

A pleased feeling fisted in his chest. He’d made her something she liked. It was even better than the… “I haven’t made fresh coffee yet.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I can wait.” Dressed in loose pants, and a tank top, with a hoodie thrown on but not zipped up she folded her arms and nodded to him. “You have another one of those?”

“Didn’t know you smoked,” he commented, both relieved to see her and wishing she hadn’t come down yet. He still hadn’t gotten his mind sorted out.

“I don’t always,” she admitted, taking the cigarette he offered and then leaning forward as he cupped a hand around the lighter to touch the flame to the tip. After a quick puff, she exhaled it with almost the same sigh he’d released. A shiver raced over her as she retreated a step.

“You’re not dressed to be out here,” he told her. Not that he was much better, but he barely felt the cold. Probably a by-product of cryo.

“I’m fine,” she told him, and walked a few steps over to a low stone wall. She brushed off the snow before easing to sit on it. “And right now the cold feels really good and I’m avoiding the ice bath I need to take since Steve’s asleep in my room.”

Bucky took another drag before responding. “You can use our room—if you want. We have two bathrooms up there.” He hadn’t meant to make the offer, but he didn’t want her to have to wait. Steve might be out for hours, he’d not slept much the last few days.

“Thanks, I might take you up on it. But I’m good with sitting here. The cold stone helps.” Some of the mottling on her skin had faded, but there were still dark marring the skin near her collar.

“All right,” he agreed, happy to have her there. Though he wanted to stare, he made himself keep his gaze on the distance with her in his periphery. Dressed in gray, bruised and bare of any cosmetics with the only real color shimmering in her green eyes and red hair, she was stunning. She’d piled her hair up into a messy bun, and the tendrils escaped to caress her nape.

God, she was so damn beautiful.

 

 

Clint

 

Clint rolled over and looked at the clock. He’d managed a few hours, but the dull ache in his shoulder made it damn uncomfortable to lie there. At least the throb had retreated. He took his time, showered, changed, checked the reduced redness around his shoulder—excellent, the infection was clearing up—and then tossed back another half a pain pill before heading downstairs.

First thing he wanted was coffee, then figure out how to convince Tasha to stay put for at least a couple of days. She needed to heal before they went after those guys again. His shoulder wouldn’t be fully healed for a while—sometimes being a regular human sucked.

The kitchen smelled like dinner, and while it didn’t smell bad it was way too damn early for dinner. There was barely in coffee left in the carafe, so he dumped it out and got fresh going. A stack of journals and a pair of file folders sat on the table near the window—and outside, Nat and Barnes smoked and didn’t seem to be talking.

Scowling, Clint got the mugs ready and then went in search of her coat. Rogers was passed out on her bed, dead to the world. Clint almost wished he had a marker. It would be fun to see if the super soldier could sleep through a little face decoration. After snagging her coat, he stopped in his room for his and a pair of shoes. Downstairs again, he poured the coffee and stepped outside to deliver the cup and her coat to her.

“Hey,” she said by way of good morning.

“Uh huh. Put it on.” He tossed her the coat. She’d put out her cigarette and slid it on, then he handed her the coffee. “You should be inside.”

“It feels better out here. I’m…really sore and kind of overheating.” She shot a quick look at Barnes who watched her with narrowed eyes.

“Hold that thought,” he told her, then returned to the house to grab his coffee. At Barnes’s questioning look, Clint smirked. “You can get your own.”

The other man snorted, and handed Nat another cigarette and took the time to light it for her.

“Where the hell did you even get those?” Nat only smoked when she was on the job or feeling particularly stressed.

The kind of stressed she avoided other people during.

Barnes shrugged, backing off a step but not fully retreating to the distance he’d been at before. Instead he planted himself near enough to Nat to reach out and run his fingers over her. “I asked Friday about them, and she had them delivered with some equipment for Nat.”

“She told me it was here,” Nat said. “I need to get it set up in a bit.” But she made no move to leave her stone perch even as she sipped her coffee.

“Equipment?” Clint asked. She better not be planning on heading to Budapest so soon.

“For the tapes and recordings we found at the base,” Nat said, her voice flat. “Some of it was VHS, and some on old cassettes. I needed a way to view it.”

“You sure you want to do that doll?” Barnes asked before Clint could. “It’s bound to be painful…and you’ve already got more than your fair share on your plate.”

“It’s nothing new for me.” Sadly, she wasn’t wrong about it or why she shrugged off the concern. “I made sure to plug in the thumb drive last night so Friday could access it on my laptop.” Yeah, she’d insisted on doing that before she’d gone to lay down. “And I have to wait a couple of days before leaving for Budapest, I need something to keep me busy.”

“Heaven forbid you just rest.” Clint shook his head. “You’re black and blue from head to toe…”

“Some of it’s already green, and my ankle has healed,” she said with a smirk, then extinguished her second cigarette. “And if I spend too much time not doing something, all I’m going to think about is the voice over the PA system—a voice I know I know, but I don’t know from where. They clearly knew me.”

Barnes stiffened at the words, as though adopting his role of silent sentinel.

“Or I’m going to think about those girls, the ones I didn’t save when I could have—if I’d been faster. If I’d played it smarter.” If she hadn’t let them detain her in Vienna, but she didn’t say that aloud. She didn’t have to.

She was making him feel old. “Don’t make us argue that you cannot take off and face all this on your own.”

“Then don’t argue. You got hurt because of me already…”

“Ahh,” he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “This is on Ross, and his goons and on me, because I chose to show up and help Steve. _You_ didn’t do anything. Before you claim to have almost gotten those two killed, I’d like to point out they are both in far better shape than you.”

Mutiny flared in her eyes, but it was Barnes who suddenly stepped between them. “Leave her alone.”

“It’s called caring, Barnes. You should be familiar with it.” And he didn’t flinch at the hard glare in the other man’s eyes. Barnes damn well cared about her enough to try and step into her fights, and he’d been beside himself when he’d realized the extent of her injuries. It was almost cute, but right now, Clint wasn’t in the mood for cute.

“James,” she murmured. “It’s fine. Clint and I yell at each other. He’s an idiot…”

“…and you’re a stubborn idiot,” Clint shot back at her and she rolled her eyes.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she continued and Barnes eased to the side a step, but he hadn’t relaxed his vigilance.

“You might need to get them all fan club t-shirts,” he said with a smirk and Nat flipped him off. Better. She was acting more like herself.

“You’re an ass,” she said without any heat, and took another drink of her coffee. She moved easier, less stiff. But he couldn’t imagine she felt all that much better. Her injuries had been extensive. “And you should be grateful I still like you.”

“I am, I’d fall down on my knees right now, but I’m old and the ground is cold.”

Her lips twitched, and Barnes released a half-snort, half-laugh.

Yeah, Clint still had it.

“But I’m calling it right now,” he continued before they could dive in. “A moratorium on research and hellish revisits for a few hours. You _need_ to heal. If you wind yourself up, you can be awake for days. I’ve seen you do it.”

“No promises,” she told him, with only a fraction of an apology in her tone. “They had all those boxes, the chair, they’re doing experiments and people are dying. We don’t have time for me to take it easy.”

“Natalia…” Barnes brushed a tendril of her hair behind an ear. “What was done to you may have nothing to do with what is being done to those women.” There was something almost proprietorial in his touch.

“Or everything to do with them,” she countered, canting her head to look up at him. “Until I go through it all…I don’t know and I have too many holes to discount the likelihood of there being something.”

“I read my files last night.” The confession startled Clint, the directness in it. Nat frowned, concern achingly apparent in her eyes—her emotions were too easily on display, another reason he wanted her to take a break.

“You okay, man?” Clint suppressed the urge to shudder away his chill. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, but it was still damn cold.

“I’m fine,” Barnes answered, shifting to keep Clint in his line of sight, but not withdrawing from Nat. “And that is my point, Natalia. I read those files—you saw such ugliness in them when you found them. I saw the pain in your eyes…but they didn’t affect me. I see what they attempted to do, and I understand how difficult they found it to bring Bucky Barnes to heel, but I don’t remember it as happening to me.”

The ugliness of that truth gnawed at Clint. When Loki took over his mind, he’d been _eager_ to obey him, thrilled to the hunt, the chase, and enormously satisfied with each precisely executed step—until Nat slammed his head into a railing and knocked the Asgardian’s control loose. Looking back, he still experienced a thrill at what he’d done while under Loki’s direction even as the rest of him rebelled because he’d not been himself.

He _remembered_ who he was before, during, and lived with the after.

_Nat_ didn’t have that.

Clint had a before Loki. Barnes had a before Hydra—though he might not remember it all yet. Steve had a before the ice. Hell, Tony had a before the cave.

Nat had the Red Room. It was the before, the during, and now surviving the after.

“I’m glad it didn’t hurt you,” Nat told him, then she eased off the stone and Barnes had a hand ready to steady her, but she didn’t need it. “Maybe I’ll be glad if it doesn’t affect me. But someone told me once that I lied and killed in the service of liars and killers.” Her mouth twisted a bit. “Then later, I found out that I really never knew whose lies I was telling. So if there is even a kernel of truth in those files, I’m taking it because it’s mine.”

Her courage humbled Clint on a level he could never express. “Do you want us with you?” As much as he wanted to shove his way in, and stand between her and whatever darkness she might unravel—he couldn’t take that choice from her.

“Maybe,” Nat said, with a sad smile. “But first, I’m going to do the ice bath and help reduce the swelling, then we’ll set things up—maybe eat some of the solyanka?” The soft look she turned on Barnes earned her a firm nod. “Then we need to research Budapest and review the Azzano files. I have to know what’s in front of…us.”

She damn near said me, but amended it. Barnes’ eyes narrowed so Clint wasn’t the only one who caught it.

“Will you help me set up the bath, James?”

“Yes,” Barnes answered even as Clint said, “I can…”

“No,” she pointed a finger at him. “You need to rest, too. I want to check your stitches or have James do it. I’ll rest, if you do.”

“That’s extortion.”

She laughed, and let _James_ take her coffee mug. Clint caught her arm before she could follow him back inside, and he lifted his chin to motion for Barnes to give them a minute.

Once the door closed, Clint narrowed the distance between he and his best friend—a woman he would die for, and someone he damn well knew would kill for him. “What are you doing, Nat?”

“In general or right now?” If she were anyone else, he’d accuse her of being coy. But Nat didn’t play the coy card with him. She told him to butt out or she gave him hard truths. When they were eye to eye, Nat didn’t play him like a mark.

“With Barnes?” He studied her expression, and she didn’t cut her gaze away or betray any tells, despite how many of her emotions were leaking through earlier. “What are you doing with Barnes? Steve’s got a thing for you, which I know you know and Tony’s not hiding his affection. So what are you doing with Barnes?”

The guy shot her twice. Tried to kill her easily three times. There was the _knowing_ she had going on, and there was this awkward flirtation Clint had a front row to. Even if the man seemed to reciprocate the same understanding.

“You won’t like the answer,” she told him bluntly, not denying any of it.

“You don’t know,” he said slowly, and at her nod, he sighed. “Nat…”

“I don’t, Clint. I care about Tony and Steve. I was so mad at both of them. Angry for the position they put me in and it hurt that I couldn’t fix it.” She blew out a breath. “That failure cost everyone—it cost you. It cost…it matters because I _failed_.”

The depth of meaning beneath that sentiment stung. Failure in the Red Room required punishment, often cruel and severe. All these years later, she couldn’t let up on herself. Even if she didn’t ask someone to punch her in the face anymore or seek pain in a brutal spar, she still tasted the failure and punished herself. Fuck, he hated how she put this on herself and he’d hated it when Fury took advantage of her need to prove herself, and he hated that she was doing it to herself now.

“Steve’s…been clear about his feelings shifting. And I don’t know what to do about that. Not yet.” She licked her lips, then glanced into the house where Barnes waited, his expression unreadable but he hadn’t taken his gaze off them. “But James is like me…maybe more like me than any of you could ever be.”

On a level he wasn’t proud of, Nat’s admission hurt. He’d been the one to drag her out of that hell. He’d been the one to hold onto her when the nightmares came, and he’d been the one there when she’d pieced herself back together. Clint wasn’t ready to surrender that position, not to any of them. Not when he didn’t trust them not to shatter her all over again.

At her frown, Clint eased an arm around her careful not to squeeze her or pull his shoulder. She snuggled into him, accepting the hug. “Kid,” he said against her hair. “You be careful, okay? It’s not on you to save him.”

“It was never on you to save me,” she glanced up at him. “And I’m older than you Clint, you don’t get to call me kid.”

“Shush,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re not alone, that’s my point. _I’m_ here.” While he didn’t want to admit it, he added, “Steve’s _wants_ to be here, even if he doesn’t always understand. Tony _wants_ to be here, and he’s doing everything he can. I’m going to guess Barnes wants to be there for you, too. But no matter what happens—it’s you and me, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” A small, tremulous smile flickered over her lips and her gaze locked on his, the relief in her eyes palpable. She was a raw wound, slowly being bled out in front of them by a thousand little cuts. “I’m going to go freeze my ass off now. I need to feel less of this before I tackle what’s in front of m—us.”

“Go,” he said, releasing her. Barnes opened the door even as she stepped toward it. Then he offered her an arm as he grabbed the large bucket he’d filled with ice. Apparently he’d taken the time to prep..

Clint watched them ascend the stairs, Nat moving with painful slowness but Barnes didn’t sweep her up as he had when they got off the quinjet. He moved at her side, ready to catch her if required.

It was like Barnes imprinted on her. And Clint didn’t know what to do with that. On some level, it felt like being left behind and Clint disliked the inherent selfishness in the thought. He could joke all day about taking in wayward assassins, but if Barnes was really into Nat and Steve was, too—that could end badly for all of them.

Turning away from the house, he stared out over the snow. Being her best friend was the best and worst position he’d ever found himself in… For her, he couldn’t be selfish. He had to be her constant, her touchstone, and make damn sure if they did try to break her—he was there to make sure she wasn’t alone while she put herself back together again.


	31. Whatever I can get my hands on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Nat and Steve inch a little closer, she lays out some ground rules for James. Digging into the research from Azzano opens some old scars, and reveals an answer to a lingering question.

Chapter Thirty-One

_Whatever I can get my hands on_

Natasha

“Fair warning,” she told James as she settled at the edge of the tub. The porcelain was so cold it seemed to burn the backs of her legs even if she craved the sensation. When she went in the icy water it would be all at once. “I can hold my breath for about six minutes, and this works best if I’m submerged.”

The faintest of frowns creased his brow. “Six minutes?”

“Six minutes.”

“Friday?” James glanced at the ceiling.

“Yes Sergeant Barnes?”

“Please time Natalia, and alert me at five minutes and fifty seconds.”

“Of course.”

Nat hid a smile. “I see you and Friday are getting along well.”

“She’s not a bad dame, almost don’t mind her watching anymore.” The almost was key. Nat got there with JARVIS eventually, but only in the common areas. James hadn’t been given a lot of options on the matter. For a moment, she tried to picture JARVIS being her company when SHIELD kept her in isolation only allowing her to leave for debriefings, and then it was in shackles.

No. She knew they were watching her anyway, and having someone like JARVIS would probably have been too close to the handlers from the Red Room, even if they hadn’t had computers like him then.

“I usually don’t want her monitoring me in my quarters,” was what she said, instead. She’d intended to turn her off because she didn’t want this recorded. It was important that James knew eventually, he’d have that option as well.

“Good thing we’re not in your quarters then, doncha think?” The Brooklyn crept into his accent every now and then as it did with Steve. Only Steve’s usually showed up when he was angry. It was kind of adorable in a way, these glimpses into the men they had been. What would it have been like to know them both then? Before?

The moment the notion crystalized, she banished it. The Natalia of then would likely have seduced and killed them or at least attempted it. That was who they’d made her then.

“Fine…Friday please lock the recording of this to my voice print only.” Tony had given her privileges, she planned to use them.

“Done, Ms. Romanoff.”

Glancing down at the water, Nat took three, deep breaths in a row. With each inhale and exhale, she pulled in more air. Saturating herself with as much oxygen as possible while ignoring the aching strain on her cracked ribs.

“Six minutes,” she reminded James, before she slid into the water and took her last deep inhale before it closed over her face and she sank to the bottom. There was less than two inches of water over her head, but the immersion wasn’t about the amount of water—but about the way it deadened her senses—blocking her vision, muffling her ears, blotting her nose, and numbing her flesh.

The soreness in her legs and torso decreased as she lingered beneath the water. The severe temperatures reduced the swelling, and relieving the inflammation. Healing fast didn’t mean healing painlessly. Mending bones was an agony all their own. Soft tissue damage, however, could be even worse.

She closed her eyes, and let herself float, slipping away from the pain and the discomfort threading through her muscles. Disassociation kept her alive. Wasn’t that what she’d told Steve? The truth was a matter of circumstances, it wasn’t all things to all people and neither was she. Disassociating from her actions kept her sane. Disassociating from her body let her heal. Dissociating from her mind? She had no choice in that one. They’d done it for her.

Her heart rate slowed, the hard thump-thump a vibrant reminder that beneath the freezing water, she still existed even as she numbed down to her soul.

_Proshchay poka Malen'kiy Pauk. Begi bystro. No pomni ... ya naydu tebya. YA vsegda naydu tebya... Goodbye little spider. Run fast. I will find you. I will always find you._

_Soldat!_

_Around her, the other dancers stretched their hands to the ceiling and rose up on their toes. Her own toes bled, and had been bleeding. She left little point marks with every step. Three had already collapsed, but not Natalia. She would not surrender to the exhaustion. Like every other test, she would persevere. She surrendered to the dance the way she did the ice, submerging herself below the pain and the agony—the dance was all that mattered._

_The hours rolled by, and more of the girls fell. Some were dragged away, out of sight and never to be seen again. Others were left slumped against the walls, carelessly discarded._

_“You’ll break them,” she’d warned Madame B, even as she slipped into the next movement, her body in motion without conscious thought. She willed, therefore she danced. She knew this dance; it was as much a part of her as her own skin. The training demanded she react without pause, without hesitation, without time to translate thought to motion._

_If a hand flew at her, capture, break the fingers, twist the wrist, take control and flip the whole body. A dozen different maneuvers executed flawlessly because her body knew the movements and so she pirouetted then a jete, then a graceful dip, and rise, and then en pointe again. The whole of the studio was her stage._

_“Only the breakable ones, Natalia,” Madame B reminded her as she danced past her._

_And it went on, for hours. The pain left Natalia’s feet, and her legs. Her body was numb, and her mind at a distance, monitoring only the cleanness of her lines. She’d soaked through her leotard, and her hair clung to her face. Dehydration a greater threat than the movements._

_She was the last dancer._

_Had been the last for more than an hour._

_Still she moved, because she had not been given leave to stop. Around her, others gathered along the walls—the older men with their stern expressions and heavily decorated uniforms, the dark suited men with their empty expressions, and the darker, younger men—the hammers to the widows’ sickle and the blood painting the floor their canvas._

_Alexei._

_Daniil._

_Leonid._

_Oleg._

_Yuri._

_She hated them all, and she ignored them as her dance brought her close to them. Ignored their leers. Their envy. Their hate. Their lust. Again, and again, she went through the dance, aware of the anticipation rising, because she exceeded all expectations. She was unstoppable._

_She was the power._

_A flash of silver, but she spun away before she could see and even as she turned to look…_

Her body demanded air and she pushed up from the water and sucked in a deep breath. The air was almost too hot against her skin, and she found James holding Steve back and both men staring at her.

“Nat?” Worry burned the single syllable of her name.

She tried to smile, but since she couldn’t feel her face, she had no idea if it translated. “Morning, Steve.”

Pushing to her feet, she let out a sigh of relief. Everything was numb, even her abdomen and her chest. She could take a deeper breath without the pain of straining her ribs. James released Steve and grabbed a huge towel from the counter and offered it to her as she stepped out of the water. She glanced down to check where she put her feet. They were too numb to trust feeling her way.

Normally, she did the ice bath naked, but in deference to her audience she’d left her tank top and panties on. Steve’s gaze dipped for the span of two seconds before it abruptly lifted to focus on her face. She hid a smile and dragged the towel around her.

“Do I want to know what you were doing?” Steve asked, seemingly only a little relieved as she wrapped the towel around her torso, then dragged the tank up and off before letting it fall with a plop against the tile. The panties needed to go because when she warmed up, they were not going to be pleasant, so she twisted to give them her back and eased them off and stepped out.

“Ice bath,” she explained. “Reduces inflammation and any residual swelling. It also encourages whatever the serum did to my system to go into hyper mode as it fights to warm me up.” The last part was a guess, but it had worked for her for years so she wasn’t going to argue.

Facing them again, she met their matching dubious looks, and had to bite back a laugh.

“Okay, neither of you likes the cold and you both have exceptionally relevant reasons to hate it.”

“But you don’t hate it?” Steve relaxed further, leaning back against the door and folding his arms. The assessing look in his eyes promised he only wanted to figure her out.

“No,” she answered slowly, and turned the idea over in her mind. “I mean I get sick of snow, but if you’d seen as many Russian winters as I have, you would too. But no…the cold doesn’t bother me. It’s a tool. It helps me heal and improve my mission readiness.” She winced at the last, particularly when James leaned against the bathroom counter and folded his arms.

Of all things, Steve looked pleased.

“What?” Because her not being shy of the cold didn’t seem revelatory.

“I’m thinking they didn’t put you on ice.” His smile grew, and then as if it were contagious, James looked from her to Steve, then back again with his own grin. “I know mine is a reaction to being asleep in the ice for so long…there are times I can remember it.”

Nat suppressed a shudder, but James didn’t even try to hide his.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve grimaced. “Sorry, I don’t tend to share that. I know it’s probably unsettling.”

“You remember being _in_ the ice?” Nat didn’t want to picture it, but how could she not? Frozen solid, unable to move, and yet aware?

“Like I said, at times. It’s like a series of bad dreams—but I couldn’t move, and I could feel the cold, and then it would go dark again. A series of…blinks across time, only I didn’t know that until the last time I opened my eyes.”

Sorrow filled James’ expression, and he gripped Steve’s shoulder. The idea of either of them experiencing that kind of a living nightmare horrified her. Nat crossed the distance and wrapped an arm around Steve’s torso, hugging him. Then James leaned in and wrapped his arms around her and Steve both.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his chest. “That’s horrible.”

“It’s okay…even if you feel like an ice cube at the moment.” The moment of levity pulled another laugh from her and even a chuckle from James.

“Yes, Natalia, you’re freezing.” He released her and dragged another towel over to wrap around her shoulders.

Despite his comment, Steve didn’t let her go. “We need to warm you up.”

“I will,” she assured him. “Actually what I need now is clean clothes, and some solyanka.”

He huffed a laugh. “Want me to go grab you some clothes?”

“I can go,” she told him, extracting herself. “Sorry about the shirt.” She’d gotten him wet.

“I can change. And you’re going to walk all the way to your wing in a towel?”

“You two have already seen me, and I have nothing to hide from Clint.” Turning, she snatched her discarded dry clothes off the counter and nudged the wet ones into a towel, before she scooped them up, and padded out of the bathroom and through James’ room with both men following her. “And I feel better.”

She did feel better, physically at least. The ache in her chest decreased, the air seemed to warm her lungs with every breath. Feeling gradually returned to sting her toes as first the carpet, then the wood flooring warmed her feet.

“Maybe start a fire?” She said over her shoulder as she crossed the foyer to the other staircase. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She offered them the task to give them something to do. Maybe it shouldn’t be odd that both Steve and James seemed to have a nurturing side. They’d shared similar childhoods, which would lend itself to similar morals and values no matter how broken the road between them. She also wanted them away from her for the next part. Alone in her room, she let the towel drop and walked into her own bathroom.

The shivering came in waves. They’d want to bundle her up, but she needed to shiver—to get her blood pumping. The mottled discoloration across her torso, arms, and legs had retreated since the day before. The arm shaped bruise across her torso and back had also faded. Rising up on her toes, she stretched her hands toward the ceiling.

Her joints popped as she extended them, her chilled muscles taut. Bit by bit, she went through every stretch until she had some semblance of her flexibility back. A leap from the bathroom across the open floor of the bedroom didn’t quite have the height she could achieve, but she landed easily enough—and her legs didn’t protest.

She took another ten minutes of practiced torture to stretch and warm the muscles in her legs, her arms, and her torso. The rush of her blood sounded loud to her own ears, but the heat unfurling from her center reached her extremities as her shivers turned violent and made stretching harder and harder.

Finally, she dragged the throw blanket Steve had slept under when he’d come to bed, and wrapped it around herself. Huddling in the middle of the carpet, she clenched her hands and locked her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“Ms. Romanoff, your respiration and pulse indicate distress. Your core temperature is too low. You are exhibiting signs of hypothermia. Initiating emergency—”

“No,” she managed to stutter out past the cold. “Give…it…a…min—ute.”

Her bracelet was cold on her wrist, but even the metal had grown warmer than her skin. Nat rocked in time with her shivers. The residual aches in her legs were bleeding away, and the shudders were slowing.

“Core body temperature still below optimal…”

“I’m aware, Friday. It’s fine…it’s supposed to be this way.”

The AI didn’t say anything, but Nat could feel the disapproval.

“Trust me.”

“Continuing to monitor vitals,” was the AI’s reluctant response.

“It’ll be fine,” she pushed out past her chattering teeth. “How…long…have…I…been…up…here?”

“Thirteen minutes, forty-one seconds. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are becoming concerned. Agent Barton is attempting to sway them to remain downstairs.”

Good. Clint got it. He’d get why she wanted to be alone for this part. She shouldn’t have indulged the whim to let James help her with the ice bath. The infernal curiosity and knowing were going to get her into trouble.

_A flash of silver in the corner…_

He’d been there. She couldn’t pull the figure into focus, but she knew it was him.

James _had_ been in the Red Room.

Was that why he was so familiar?

The shivers waned, and she could draw a breath without shaking.

“Core temperature rising. Threat of hypothermia reduced.” Friday sounded so damn disapproving. It was almost funny.

“Told you…now bug out. I’ve got to get dressed.”

“As you wish, Ms. Romanoff…Captain Rogers is on his way to your room.”

Turning her head, she glanced at the door and listened for the familiar weight of his steps. “I’m still naked in here Rogers, so unless you want to get an eyeful, you may want to wait.”

The hard stop on his steps left her grinning.

“You okay?” His concern apparently outweighed his embarrassment, but he didn’t open the door. “You’ve been up here a while and Friday was evasive when we asked.”

“Friday knows not to monitor me,” she defended the AI. “And I’m really trying to decide what to wear. You know what outfit says I survived being blown up, but I can’t wait to throw my ass back into the fire?”

His snort made her grin wider as she pushed herself back to her feet, and kept the blanket tucked around her. Though her steps were shaky, she made her way to the closet. “I’m going in the closet, so you can come in if you want to keep talking.”

She didn’t make it another step before the door opened. The heat in his blue eyes when he swept them over her ignited an entirely different kind of smile. Steve really was pretty, and he cared. Sometimes too much.

But he was so damn good, and she was so damn not.

“You know, if I’d realized bedraggled and rumpled was your style, I’d have found someone for you a long time ago.” Trotting out old jokes to keep the situation light didn’t really work when he only favored her with a dubious look.

“It only works when it’s you—and that pretty much goes for however you look.”

“Careful Rogers, I’m going to swoon.” Which wasn’t totally a joke. She eased into the closet and pulled out clean panties, and skipped the bra. Her bruises weren’t totally gone and she could wear a hoodie or a sweatshirt.

“Yeah?” He was a lot closer this time, and leaning against the open closet door. “I’d better be close so I can catch you.”

Huh. She’d always found him more than a little fascinating, but this side of him? It was downright charming. “The carpet’s soft. It wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Not about whether it would hurt. Never going to let you fall if I can help it.”

Nat turned away from him, pouring every ounce of her control into wrestling away the silly little smile that wanted to dance out his over the top, albeit adorable declaration. “Hard to get up again if you don’t fall.”

“Like you need practice getting up again.” Admiration underscored every word. “You’re the one who taught me, remember?”

Nat sighed. She’d taught him a lot of dirty tricks, too.

“Hey, don’t do that…”

“Don’t do what?” She forced herself to pick through the clothes, selecting a warm pair of fleece bottoms from a drawer—they were probably pajamas but they were soft as hell. In the drawer above them was a collection of tank tops and t-shirts. If she pulled Tony’s hoodie back on, the tank tops would work.

“You’re thinking bad things about yourself.”

Surprised, she eyed him. “Adding mind reading as a serum side effect?”

“No, but I’m starting to know you. Like—I know you’re going to try to ditch us at some point to take on whoever that was on the PA, and Alexei, and the experiments. You’re not going to do it because you want to get rid of us, but because you want to protect us.” He leveled those blue eyes at her, and while it wasn’t the Captain America stare of disappointment, she couldn’t look away. “You’re going to do it because Clint is hurt, and you don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s your _family._ So you’ll try to slip him but he’s hard to lose because he probably knows you better than anyone. To that end you’ll probably recruit Bucky, because Bucky will want to do anything he can for you without question.”

Smoothing her features over, she didn’t give into the response. The lingering tremors from her shivering didn’t help, but they did offer some cover.

“So you’ll convince Bucky to help you protect Clint by keeping Clint safely out of it. It will help you protect Bucky, too. Because even though you didn’t want me to pull on that thread, and with everything that’s happened—you care about him Nat. Not because of me or for me, but because of who he is or could be to you.”

Yeah. He was hitting the nail on the head. Uncomfortably so.

“Tony’s not here, there’s a good chance this business with Ross, the Accords and the work the Avengers have to do will keep him at arm’s length. The only one I haven’t figured out how you’re going to leave—is me.” Instead of the anger he’d expressed for some of her choices in the past, he actually seemed relaxed—too relaxed. “Until it hit me in the bathroom.”

Holding her clothes in one hand and keeping the towel up with the other, she arched an eyebrow. “I’m not going to freeze you, Steve.” The wry remark turned up the corners of his mouth.

“No.” He crossed to her. “You won’t. You’re going to piss me off. You’re going to find a way to make me angry, because I’ve already proven I can be a real jerk when I’m angry. Then when my back is turned and I’m too hot at you to think, you’ll go. All you need to slip me is a head start.”

Guilt swamped her.

Because, yeah, if she wanted to get away from Steve that was a damn good plan.

When he stood near enough she could feel the heat rolling off him and she had to tilt her head to look up at him, she said, “Steve…”

“Shh,” he murmured, and pressed his finger to her lips. The touch was startlingly intimate. “I get it. I didn’t for a really long time. I’m hard headed that way, but…the last few days, it’s driven it home to me. Then what you said in the bathroom, about the cold and we’re figuring you were never in one of those cryo chambers.”

“That’s a guess, you know,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but I think it’s an accurate one.” He reached up to where her damp hair was still in a bun and freed it, then carefully began to comb his fingers through the damp strands. “Nat, you’ve been alive for decades and until Barton, I doubt you had anyone you could trust. You’re a survivor, you live by your terms, and you do what you have to. So I get it. Having people you care about is hard as hell.”

Her eyes burned, and she blinked a little rapidly to force them to stop. Caring had been beaten out of her in the Red Room. Never let them know who mattered. Never.

“It hurts when we lose someone. It hurts more when we blame ourselves for it. I blamed myself for Bucky, and I blame myself for what happened to you. I let you down.” Then he dipped his head, and rested his forehead to hers. “If you need to cut us loose, I get it. If that’s what helps you _survive_ , then I get it. But I’m asking you to trust us to protect you, too. You don’t have to fight this on your own. You don’t have to take the hits to save us. You don’t have to save _me_.”

The scratchy feeling at the back of her throat made her cough a little. She almost wished she could go back to the hypothermia. It might be easier. Fighting tears had never been a problem for her, and yet, here he was sitting on the inside of her defenses like he had the right to be there. She didn’t know how to get him out, and she didn’t know if that was what she wanted.

Bracing the hand holding her clothes against his chest, she rose up on her tiptoes and ignored the complaints from her muscles to brush her lips against his. His lips parted with a breath of surprise and she nuzzled with care, not pressing for anything more than the affection at the moment. Then she drew back on his lower lip with the lightest scraping of her teeth, before releasing him and lowering her heels to the floor.

“I do have to save you, Steve,” she told him. “Where would you be without me?”

“A hell of a lot worse off,” he said, then dipped his head to kiss her again even as he cradled her face in his hands. It was gentle, and terrifically tender. It asked for nothing, and offered everything. Then he nipped her lower lip, as though mimicking her from the first kiss before easing only a few scant centimeters away. His breath still warmed her lips, teasing her.

“Second kiss since 1945?” Her fingers were still pressed against his sturdy chest, and it was like bracing herself against a wall. She really did forget sometimes just how much larger he was.

Steve winced. “Well…”

“Oh!” Laughter speared through her. “Steve Rogers, you cad.”

His ears burned red and the flush of pink spread across his face.

“I’m just so shocked at you.” Maybe she shouldn’t tease him, but she couldn’t resist. This was too much fun. “So third kiss? Fourth? Or so many you’ve lost count?”

“You know what Romanoff…?” Oh, he was practically squirming.

“Oh I know what…I just don’t know _who_ you were kissing.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nat…”

“It was the blonde,” James announced and Steve wasn’t the only one who startled. For the second time it seemed, James caught her absolutely unawares and the adrenaline flooding her sent her heart rabbiting.

“Bucky!” If it were possible, Steve blushed even more furiously as he glared at James.

“What? Was it a secret?” James playing dumb wouldn’t work. From what she’d learned about James Barnes he’d never been this innocent, and from what she’d seen when they relaxed, James loved to pick on Steve.

“Did it ever occur to you I wanted to work the secret out of him myself?” She eyed James and shook her head, almost clucking her tongue. “Way to spoil my fun. Now, both of you—shoo. I’m dropping this blanket in three…”

Steve strode forward to press James back, but James tipped his head to the side.

“Two…”

“C’mon Buck,” Steve practically growled even as James laughed, and then they were tussling like schoolboys. Their laughter rose as Steve yanked the door closed.

Blowing out a shaking breath, she touched her fingers to her lips. _What are you doing?_ Unfortunately she didn’t have any better answers for herself than she had for Clint.

Thumps from the other side of the door reminded her of their scuffling. “Don’t break anything out there,” she called.

A chorus of “Sorry!” from both preceded another set of thumps.

Her lips tingled with the memory of the kiss, both the one she’d given him and the one he’d turned around and delivered to her. Blowing out a breath, she shook her head. _Stop acting like a horny teenager._ She let the blanket fall and pulled on her panties carefully. Genuine pain had given way to soreness. It would still be a couple of days before the bruises and stiffness faded to not impair her movements. She could still fight as she was, but she would rather be in peak form. Injuries offered her opponents an advantage.

The reality of the mysteries ahead of her sobered her from the giddy little lark inspired by kissing Steve to the sober present. Once dressed, she scooped up the blanket and opened the door. Steve and Bucky sprang apart from their wrestling, both wearing almost boyish grins of glee, even if Steve was still a little flushed.

The smiles warmed her. If nothing else, Steve had gotten his best friend back and he was right. She had to protect them both if she could—they’d lost enough.

“You okay?” Steve’s eyes softened as he gazed at her.

“I’m starving,” she said, deflecting neatly. She ducked into the bathroom long enough to run a comb through her damp hair. It was starting to curl already, but she ignored it. The riot would be tamed before they moved and for now, she could live with it. Snagging the hoodie, she eased her arms into the sleeves and followed Steve and James to the door.

“I thought I needed to send in an extraction team since both rescues went belly up,” At the bottom of the stairs. Clint commented dryly, but his eyes reflected relief. Yes, he knew what happened after an ice bath and he’d tried to distract them.

“It’s fine,” she told him, bumping him lightly on the hip. “Did anyone look at your shoulder yet?”

“No—”

“Steve?” Nat glanced at him. “Could you take a look at the dressing on Clint’s shoulder and re-bandage it?”

“C’mon Clint, let’s get this over with.” Steve motioned him toward the kitchen.

“Traitor,” Clint muttered as they moved away.

Nat put a hand on James’ arm, stopping him from following. She waited until they were out of sight, and Clint started a running litany of why Steve didn’t need to look at his shoulder, then she focused on James.

A question hovered in his eyes and he leaned in to her, she could almost see the decay of his orbit.

“Don’t,” she told him firmly, keeping her voice pitched perfectly low. The problem with super soldiers was super hearing.

James paused, then raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t try to get Steve in trouble with me.”

His expression melted into almost _aww shucks_ , and he ducked his head. “I was just playing doll.”

“No Soldat, you weren’t.” The snap of the title jerked his head up like she’d pulled strings and the playfulness drained from his eyes. “You were jealous. I don’t know how long you were there—well done by the way, very few sneak up on me—but you wanted to poke at him and see if you could stir up trouble. Don’t do it.”

His eyes narrowed, then he blew out a breath. “He and I both know where we stand with regard to you. He understood and he still got a kiss. I don’t see the harm.”

“Ignoring the implication I’m some prize in this understanding of yours, I’m extremely happy the two of you are communicating. Don’t try to get him in trouble with me again. He’s my friend James, and he’s yours. What happens or doesn’t happen between he and I will not be controlled by you.” All the familiarity in the world would not budge her on this. “Your friendship comes _first._ ”

James frowned. “You’re worried about us fighting over you?”

“Leave it at fighting period. You’re his oldest friend, and he’s yours.” When James would have protested, she held up one finger. “Stop. Just stop. He burned his world down—burned down all of our worlds to _save_ you. Play, tease, fight all you like…but don’t use me to sabotage him. Are we clear?”

He nodded slowly. “I won’t.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “Then you and I won’t have a problem.”

A sheepish grin softened his mouth and he leaned toward her again. “Then you and I are okay?”

“Well…” She paused to consider it a moment, then struck hard, her fist slamming into his thigh just to the right of his groin and he let out a soundless oof, and jerked away even as he tried to shield himself. It wasn’t quite in the nuts, but it was close enough to hurt and to startle. “Now we’re fine.”

Leaving him to recover, she continued toward the kitchen and she paused next to a staring, open-mouthed Steve, and slapped him in the back of the head.

“Ow…” He flinched and stared at her.

“I’m no man’s prize, Rogers. The next time you gentlemen decide to make an agreement regarding me, you would be well advised to remember it.” Then over her shoulder she said, “I’m going to have the solyanka now, thank you James.”

“You’re welcome, doll,” came his pained response.

Clint snickered, and shook his head with his hands raised when she met his gaze. “Not it. Didn’t see it. Can’t make me talk.”

“Pffft, I wouldn’t even have to strain myself.” But at the same time, it felt good to tease, to be human, to act like it was just another day and they were all where they belonged.

Steve and James arrived in the kitchen, each regarding her with equally wary looks. Good. Something inside her must be irrevocably broken that she was far more comfortable with their caution than she was with their affection.

The solyanka was still warm when she ladled it into a bowl, and she offered the first one to James. He made it after all. Steve and Clint both declined, and then Steve offered to make pancakes. Amusingly enough, James brightened right up at that offer, so she took the bowl back and settled in to eat it.

It wasn’t terrible, but it had too much water and the meat didn't taste quite right. In some ways, it was the kindest meal she’d ever eaten. Aware of James watching her while trying not to watch her almost made her smile, but she finished all of the bowl and her stomach cramped, hunger assaulting her now that she’d eaten. Healing took a lot of energy and she’d not eaten near enough.

So she ladled a second bowl.

And a third.

By the time she’d finished a fourth, all three men were staring at her with varying states of shock.

“You eat pancakes and bacon by the pound,” she said pointing at Steve. “You eat nearly as many,” she added to James, and when Clint smirked at her, she flipped him off and made him laugh.

“The solyanka was very good, James,” she commented after she drained the bowl, drinking the last of the broth like it was a cup. “Thank you.”

The vegetables and proteins helped. Coffee helped more. Then she took the time to set up the viewing equipment, and James went to get the files and the tapes. Her laptop was opened, and Friday shared the data she had been able to parse.

The experiments at Azzano involved human modification.

Testing strains of serum.

The corpses James discovered were hardly the first.

There was a pause in the dissemination as James stalked outside to smoke, and Steve went to punch things. Clint said he wanted to call his kids and Nat took a bottle of vodka out to the porch, and bummed smokes off James.

They reconvened an hour later, and reviewed the projects passing through Azzano—test phases. Such cheery terms. The victims weren’t meant for anything great, even success stories were put down. All they wanted to know was whether the strains they developed, remastered, reformulated, and then broken down again worked.

Girls, wonder of wonders, were the best subjects.

Women the second best.

All experimentation on men had been abandoned after one subject killed most of the researchers and they were forced to start again.

Seventy years—the only thing that changed at the facility were the people running it. James’ countenance grew grayer as they reviewed more of the files. Friday acknowledged most of the formulations she identified were variances resulting in obscenities—madness or deformity, sometimes both. The only thing never mentioned in the files was where the leaps and changes in the formula came from. It was as though it sprang fully formed for them to use.

“Am I the only one troubled by the fact these monsters labeled something an obscenity?” Clint asked, most likely rhetorically, yet Steve shook his head because Clint wasn’t alone and James grunted.

The more they learned, the more distant she became. The successful formulations were sent on to Moscow, and Arkangelsk. The corpses would have been shipped to Volgograd for dissection.

Nat really didn’t want to think about it too deeply.

The next time the guys needed a break, she kept going. Alexei’s name wasn’t in the files. Nor any others she recognized. At least not in recent memory. Ivan Petrovich’s name came up a scant few times, but she didn’t want to think about him. So she put a pin in those files.

Azzano was just one long bloody history of misery, but their electronic files only went back to the eighties with some prior years having been digitized, but it seemed pretty random. Probably fan boys—since science actually had them. Though, she was loath to call the creatures behind these experiments scientists.

Needing a break of her own, she moved over to the files James brought down and the tapes. Bypassing her SHIELD debriefing, she went through until she found the oldest one.

The notes on the case stated it was a transfer made in the 70s from reel footage dated 1948.

“Friday, are the boys still occupied?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff. Captain Rogers has returned to the gym and seems intent upon destroying the remaining punching bags we had in stock. I have ordered more. Sergeant Barnes is outside with Agent Barton.”

“Thank you.”

Inserting the tape, she sat down and hit play. Then took a deep breath and forced herself to stare at the screen. A board was held up that simply said Widow 03. Then the footage rolled.

Natalia Romanova—Widow 03—standing at a firing range. She fired repeatedly, switching hands and weapons as she moved down the table. Thick white smoke gathered around her, the discharge from the weapons. It tasted like steam and sulfur, with a hint of urine that came from the saltpeter. The stink of it clustered in her lungs, and clung to her hair and her clothing. The soap and water in the community showers were a poor defense against it.

How many years had it been before she stopped expecting to smell it?

Each target was displayed, perfect bullseyes, clustered, some with only a single hole. Applause from the men gathered behind to observe the tests. The faces were eerily familiar, but the camera jerked and didn’t linger on them.

For one moment, the camera lingered on her face and there was a smallest hint of pride in her upraised chin.

She was better than every person in that room.

Only her obedience to training kept her from turning the weapons on them.

She could have.

She didn’t.

What a fool.

The footage ended, then began again in a new room, and she was dressed in a simple black shirt, and pants. Her feet were bare and her hands weren’t wrapped. They’d tied her into a chair—lashing her feet lightly, a loop of rope around the ankles and through the chair and then up to around her throat. If she moved too quickly, she would strangle herself. Her arms had been lashed to the arms of the chair itself.

Ivan stepped forward, his expression severe. The camera only recorded from the back, she couldn’t see his face.

A small mercy, she’d never forget it regardless.

When he spoke, her expression muted to neutral and she waited. The first man came at her from the side, and he struck her across the face. Then another, and another. Her stomach. Her shoulders. Her nose was broken. A cheekbone shattered. They broke her leg. Her pelvis. Blood poured down her face and soaked between her fingers. The rope had gone slick with it.

The neutral expression on her face never wavered.

More applause. A general stalked forward, his face angry as he spoke—it was like watching reel footage from an old silent movie. The lack of sound to accompany everything on the screen disturbing in a way even the violence wasn’t.

The words drifted out of the past as though whispered on some absent wind, _“You have now broken the Widow, how is this successful?”_

Madame B answered, her expression serene. _“She is not broken. She is marble.”_

The footage ended.

When the next footage began, she was still in the chair. What they hadn’t detailed was she’d sat in that chair for three days. The only things they’d done was align the bones in her leg and pelvis—and they hadn’t untied her to do it. The red ribbon of a bruise was still visible on her throat. Her face would have to be rebroken later, as would her nose. But she healed while she sat there.

Healed as tried to sleep sitting up, careful to never extend her legs or cut off her oxygen. Occasionally they gave her sips of water, but no words of encouragement. She was left alone. A test for the mind in isolation and pain.

She did not even allow herself a whimper.

Failure was unacceptable.

When the men shuffled back into the room, the uniforms looked unimpressed, their faces sour and irritated. Why did they have to waste their time on this? In the corner of one frame—Alexei smirked.

Bastard.

He’d enjoyed being one of the ones to hit her. He…and the rest. They’d been charged with breaking her.

Ivan again. He said two words to her. Those words echoed back to her as if his lips brushed her ear.

_“Free yourself.”_

What happened next offered her the greatest satisfaction of her life in that moment. Alexei and the others came for her. Another beating. They would tear her apart this time. But she did not sit quiescently through this assault. No, she snapped a leg forward and dislocated Daniil’s knee. The rope cut off her oxygen, but she’d sucked in enough air before she began strangling herself. She danced upward, ducking Oleg, and then rolling into Leonid and slamming the chair leg down on his foot. At his howl, she’d snapped her head back, loosening the rope around her neck enough to get force behind her swing.

His nose had cracked. Blood had sprayed over her. The copper in the air mingled with the sour stench of urine and sweat. Yuri came at her, but she ran, meeting him and throwing herself into a flip. The chair shattered on him and the rope loosened further.

Alexei was there, but she caught his arm and twisted it out. The wooden chair bits still tied to her became weapons as she slammed them against his side. One. Two. Three.

Ribs cracked.

And then Leonid lunged at her again, but she twisted, stepping out of the ropes around her ankles and rushed at Leonid, hitting him with both feet to his chest and knocked him backward as well as herself.

She hit the ground and then bounced to her feet, riding the momentum. Daniil grabbed for her ankle, and danced around him, then kicked him in the face. Blood sprayed as his nasal bone penetrated his brain.

He died instantly.

Oleg grappled for her, and she twisted around him using his own strength against him as she wrenched his arm from the socket, and then flipped. With her thighs around his neck, she twisted.

The vertebrae snapped, and he collapsed but she was already rushing Leonid again. Rage contorted his face as she climbed around him, then had the rope still linking her wrists around his neck like a makeshift garrote. Her legs fastened to his torso, cutting off his air and giving her leverage.

He went purple as he strained to breathe…and then Ivan snapped something and she released Leonid immediately, dropping to her feet and free of him.

The fight was over. She’d been ordered to release him.

If Ivan said nothing, Leonid would have died next.

Sweat and blood slicked her. Her heart had been hammering. Breath control had served her, but her throat still hurt from how hard she’d choked on the rope. Leonid staggered to his feet, and rounded on her. Ivan had been talking to his applauding audience when Leonid struck her so hard blood flew from her face and she’d gone down sideways.

Her cheek needed to be re-broken anyway.

But he’d also broken her jaw.

James was right. It was like watching someone else, yet she could remember every blow, every moment of jagged adrenaline surges. Except this…the blinding pain followed by nothingness. Only…the video showed Leonid rushed at her again, when a metal fist slammed into his outstretched arm, then James—no, the Winter Soldier had him by the throat and dangled him in the air.

The camera jostled, but it held on the straining Leonid as he kicked out at the Soldier, but the Soldier didn’t flinch. A general came forward and said something, then the Soldier flung Leonid away to crash against a wall.

The camera operator must have backed up. There was a wider view of the room, Alexei and Yuri staggered to their feet, leaning on each other and glaring not at the Soldier but at her.

She wasn’t moving. She had no memory of the Soldier’s intervention. She’d been unconscious. Instead, it was the Soldier who leaned down and picked her up. And then the footage cut off like the film had snapped as he walked away. The tape ended.

“Jesus. Mary. And Joseph.” Steve.

“What the hell was _that_. Red?” Tony.

“ _Christ_ …” James.

“Nat?” Clint.

She turned to find all four men standing between the open pocket doors of the study.

“Hey Tony,” she greeted him with a smile. Maybe it was a grimace. It was hard to tell. She was as numb as she’d been after the ice bath. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, easing into the room. “What was that?”

The tape had stopped and the screen had turned the most ironic shade of bright, cheerful blue.

“That was the week I graduated from the Red Room. The week I proved my worth. I did really well. I beat everyone…beat their records, exceeded every benchmark or goal, survived interrogation, and they rewarded me three days later when they sterilized me. It was efficient. Just like me.” She glanced down at her hand and curled her fingers. “They recorded it. Must have been noteworthy.”

Clint’s hand closed over hers, and she found another smile.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Believe it or not…I remember most of that. Not the James part…I was unconscious for that. No one ever said anything.” Not odd if she thought about it. Though, she was surprised Alexei contained himself. He’d been a bastard to her in the short weeks following, and then…

…and then, she encountered one of the nebulous parts of her history.

“Yeah, we’re not watching the rest of these,” Tony announced. “I don’t do torture porn, and neither should you.”

It was good to see Tony. “You look like crap,” she said, leaning into Clint and maybe squeezing his hand a little harder than necessary.

“Well coming from you Red, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tony dragged a hand through his hair. The bags under his eyes looked packed for a fortnight’s vacation, and he was pale—even for him. “As of right now, we’re taking a break—all of us.” Yet his gaze remained on her. “We’re going to eat pizza, and popcorn, and watch really bad feel good movies…or maybe some _Lord of the Rings_ or something. Anything that isn’t that.”

“Tony…” They didn’t have time for a break.

“Nope,” he said, with a sharp shake of his head. “I need a break.” Tony never admitted to things like that. “And after walking in to _Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome_ there, you _definitely_ need a break. Executive decision. My house. My rules. Friday, find us all the pizza, and ice cream. Get it here pronto.”

“On it Boss.”

“Rogers, pack this crap up.” Tony didn’t have to tell Steve twice. He shoved everything back into the bags with enough force, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d broken. “Barnes go gather enough blankets and pillows to build a really excellent fort.”

James paused, a puzzled look creeping into the eerie blankness he’d sported since she’d turned around. “How…”

“Just get a lot.” Tony shooed him, and James went. “Barton…”

“I’m not leaving Nat,” Clint said flatly.

“I’m okay,” she tried to tell him.

“The hell you are,” he said with a glare.

“Not telling you to leave her,” Tony said. “Was going to say help me coax Red into the other room.”

“She’s right here and has ears,” Nat reminded him dryly.

“And feelings too, it’s like she’s a real girl.” Despite the snark in his tone, he couldn’t mask the deep fear in his eyes. Tony had been tortured in that cave. It continued to haunt him even when he tried to play it off. She had no idea when they came in, but it was enough to give him nightmares. As soon as she stood, he held open his arms and she walked right into them. She didn’t know who needed the hug more. Probably both of them.

“Hi Tony.”

“Hey Red.”

He released her after a moment, then leaned away to look her over.

“You really do look like crap.”

A real grin tugged at her lips. He managed to make an insult endearing. “So I’m going to the living room, and you gave everyone else tasks. What are you going to do?”

“I’m in charge of entertainment and turning up the volume on a better time. Leave you guys alone and you turn this into an absolute tragedy…” He shook his head. “Don’t know why I put up with it.” Then he was on the move, all manic energy and determination.

Clint slid an arm around her waist. “He’s freaked out.”

“Very. You should go make sure he doesn’t blow something up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she told him. “I’m okay.” Probably better than all of them. “The only surprise on there was James.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “That does not make me feel better.”

“Go on…Tony might turn the oven into a real Iron Chef.” She gave him a gentle nudge, and he tugged her hair once before he went. Nat glanced at the blue screen once, then left the room. Steve had already taken the files, the tapes, all of it. He’d even taken her laptop.

Smart man.

She might have to kill him for that later, but still smart.

James met her at the living room with his arms full of blankets, Steve a half a step behind him. The awkwardness stretched out around them. This wouldn’t do.

“Thanks for throwing Leonid into a wall,” she told him.

“The man who sucker punched you?” James confirmed.

“Leonid…Red Room asshole.” Something about him niggled at her memory, but she nudged it all to the back. Compartmentalized. Later. She would deal with it later after she settled the boys.

“Should have killed him.”

It surprised the hell out of her when Steve nodded. When he held out a hand to her, she took it and let him walk her over to the sofa. She curled up into the corner of one, and he slid down to sit on the floor in front of her. James dropped the blankets and he settled on the arm of the sofa.

They were both so rigid, and tense. They were as freaked out as Tony.

Probably as freaked out as Clint, though Clint at least had some standard of comparison before that video. Not that she’d ever been quite so graphic in her depictions.

Time to do damage control. She shook off the malaise and focused.

“Okay boys,” she announced, pulling their attention from guard duty. “Let’s make this a real blanket fort…”

“You know how to make one?” James sounded skeptical.

“I’ll have you know that Auntie Nat not only knows how to make them, I can reinforce them…up. Let’s do this.” She slid off the sofa with both of then leaping to help.

By the time Clint and Tony drifted in armed with popcorn, sodas, and enough candy to give Nat sugar shock looking at it, she sat in the middle of the blanket fort, leaning back against the sofa on a pile of pillows with two proud, if a little dazed super soldiers. Blanket forts were serious work, and apparently, she surprised them with her serious skill.

Tony took up residence on the pillows near her feet and Clint smirked at her. As he eased onto the chair she’d had James add to the fort. It would be easier on Clint’s shoulder.

The guys argued over the movie—well Clint and Tony did, with Steve offering a few suggestions that earned him some playful insults from Tony. They still hadn’t picked a movie when the pizza arrived. It was almost like old times.

Almost.

Nat had James purloin the remote when Steve and Tony went to get the pizzas—Nat didn’t even worry about the security of it, she trusted Tony to have it covered. After hiding the remote, she asked Friday to play _Shrek._ Clint rolled his eyes, but she ignored his teasing.

She liked the movie.

Even if Lila had made her watch it every time she came for a visit.

Fiona rocked, and Donkey was a good friend—and a little bit of an idiot.

 


	32. You know Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve make peace, and bring each other up to speed on what they've both learned. Nat and Tony share a moment.

Chapter Thirty-Two

_You know Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me._

 

Tony

 

 

Two movies, six boxes of pizza, a gallon and a half of ice cream, and a pot of coffee later, Clint headed up to bed. Barnes lingered, his gaze fixed on Nat until she bid them all good night and followed Clint. Tony didn’t miss the way Barnes tracked her up the stairs, or how he’d remained as near to her as he dared without actually touching her throughout the evening.

What surprised him, however, was when Barnes told Tony good night, and thanked him for all his help before he left Steve and Tony alone. Steve broke down the empty pizza boxes and the silence dragged between them.

“Friday, switch to side by side CNN and BBC, and mute.” The screen changed, and Tony only half-watched the news. The good captain wasn’t lingering down here for no reason. So, he waited him out.

But Cap didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and when he resorted to folding blankets Tony sighed. “Spit it out before it eats you alive, Cap.”

“Not really sure how to,” the other man admitted, giving him a tight smile. “The world’s inside out.”

“Not really new for us,” was all Tony said as he toasted him with his tonic water. Conversations like this made him ache for a real drink, but he’d needed all his faculties and right now, if he climbed inside a bottle—well he might not climb back out.

“No. It’s easier when it’s just us though.” Then Cap grimaced. “That sounded worse than what I meant…”

“If you meant you and I duking it out because Barnes killed my mom and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me Hydra assassinated my parents is easier than ringside seats to Whack-a-Nat, then I’ll give you some leeway.”

Dropping the freshly folded blanket onto the growing stack, Steve stared at him. “It’s not just Nat’s past. It’s the present. It’s whoever these people are after her. It’s the experiments they’re doing, and all the other people they're hurting. It’s…” Cap hesitated and looked down at his hands. He’d been destroying gym equipment when Tony landed. Friday let him know he was there, but only after he’d apparently busted another punching bag.

They hadn’t really had time to say much before they’d converged with Barnes and Barton to find Nat watching that video.

“It’s having all that strength and power at your fingertips and you can’t seem to do a damn thing to stop what’s happening. It’s knowing, you could shatter walls, and break necks, and rip the guts out of this organization, but it doesn’t heal or repair what they’d already broken.”

Steve sat on the edge of the coffee table. “She’s not going to let us save her.”

“The mistake you’re making is asking her,” Tony stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “The mistake is thinking she has to choose to let you help her.”

“If she doesn’t want us to…”

“Wait,” Tony said, waving him off. “You’re missing what I’m saying. You made a mistake before…with me.” Maybe the last few weeks had been wearing on him, but the initial fury and grief had given way to profound disappointment and maybe even resignation.

Instead of defending himself or getting hot under the collar, Cap leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and considered his answer. “I didn’t tell you about your parents because I wanted to spare myself that reality. I didn’t think you should have to mourn them twice…and I didn’t—and I _don’t_ blame Bucky, even if I know the Winter Soldier used his hands to do it.”

Carefully framed and thought out. “That’s part of it.” Tony had been tossing this one back and forth for a while, but he met and held Cap’s gaze. “The other part was you didn’t trust me. To be fair, I didn’t really trust you either. We all demanded trust from each other—you maybe more than me. But none of us were willing to give it.”

Rogers eased his head from side to side as if chewing over the thought. “I liked your dad. You know this.”

One nod. Yes, Tony was aware and Howard Stark had _loved_ Steve Rogers.

“When I met you—I was disappointed that you weren’t your dad.”

The honesty shouldn’t hurt, because Tony got it. He got where Rogers was coming from. It still cuts, though. “To be fair, I didn’t really see why Dad was such a fan of yours either.”

A quick, half-smile. “But I wasn’t fair to you, Tony. I didn’t _know_ you. You didn’t _know_ me. We—judged each other.”

“I like to think we found a way to work together.” They’d done it in New York, and again on the raiding missions before Ultron. Ultron itself had been a sticking point but…

Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve sighed and his expression turned rueful. “We worked well together—I think we’re trying to work together now. But we’re not friends.”

“No,” Tony said slowly, letting out a long breath. “We weren’t. We pretended to be…we were colleagues and we both mistook it for friendship. Some of that’s on me, I’m not good at the friends thing.”

“You’re better than you think,” Steve offered swiftly. “But you expected me to be a righteous man, not a human one.”

Fair. “And you expected me to be Howard—but I gotta ask, you and Dad really didn’t spend a lot of time together did you?”

Red touched the tips of Steve’s ears and he shook his head. “He was larger than life…eager. Smart. A hell of a risk taker. Flew me right into enemy anti-aircraft fire in a civilian plane. Pushed deep behind enemy lines, didn’t even think twice about it and cracked jokes the whole way.”

“Fondue,” Tony deadpanned and chuckled when Steve gave him a pained look. “Dad loved that story.”

“Well, I made an idiot out of myself. But no, we knew each other. I respected him. And if you were to have asked me then…or even after I got out of the ice, if we were friends, I would have said yes.”

“But you weren’t,” Tony agreed with him, and it was a reality he’d long believed but couldn’t really put his finger on it. “You were this huge success for Dad. He was so damn proud of his work where you were concerned. But you died—disappeared. They had no body to bury, and legends…legends become larger than life. They become something more.”

“Yeah…and I woke up to a world where he was gone, and all I had were some memories. When I met you—I wanted you to be him. I wanted to have that chance with him again.”

The conversation was a lot less painful than Tony had imagined. “I was a constant disappointment to my old man, so this really isn’t new territory for me.”

Reproach darkened his eyes. “I can’t speak for Howard, but I didn’t take the time to look at the man behind the tech, behind the genius—I’m not going to make that mistake twice.”

“But you’re hoping I will so you have that chance.” Maybe it wasn’t fair, but skewering Cap a little did give him a small amount of satisfaction.

Steve hung his head. “I’d like the chance, yes, but I already think you’ve gone above and beyond what any reasonable man would expect considering our recent history.”

“True. But when has anyone ever accused me of being reasonable?” He smirked, amused at the incredulity spreading through Steve’s expression. “Look Capsicle, we’re not going to be BFFs anytime soon. But we do have a few things in common, I figure we can build from there—or at least just not hate on each other. It gives Red heartburn.”

Or something. Could Red even get heartburn? She definitely took a beating on that mission. As badly bruised as she’d appeared nearly a day and a half later, yeah—it had to have been bad.

“I’d like that.”

“Good deal. Now, the touchy feely is giving me hives. Friday filled me in on the human experimentation details from Azzano. Tell me about the rest.” Natasha had been a wreck when they got back, her exhaustion and pain carried clearly over the phone—and he was utterly unused to her being so transparent.

“Drink?” Steve was on his feet and moving.

“I’d love one, but I’ll stick to coffee.” Following Steve into the kitchen, he filled his mug from the last in the still warm pot. For his part, Cap pulled out bottled water and took a long drink.

“We hiked in, the place was pretty remote with only a single point of access. We wanted to get into what they were doing there—after Tatiana’s information trying to point us away…”

“Yeah I got that,” Tony said, motioning him onward. “Still no leads on her.” No one should be able to hide that well. Hiding the rogue Avengers had become a dedicated process for Friday, and Tony had extensive communications reach. This one woman should not be able to slip under the radar so deeply.

Then again, Nat had. Without Clint, he doubted he’d have found her. Then that also took a fair amount of luck.

“We pulled a standard intrusion op, neutralized the threats—in most cases non-lethally.”

Tony wasn’t going to touch that. Based on the research, the only people possibly innocent at that base would have been the subjects of the experiments.

“Once we secured the staff, we made entry and Nat secured their comms and security cameras. After that, we split up—she went downstairs while Bucky and I swept the labs and computer room.” Steve grimaced as he detailed the morgue Barnes uncovered and the corpses.

It was nauseating. But when Steve told him about Nat going into the basement, and losing comms behind the steel door, Tony’s gut hurt. What she’d found down there lead to the broken notes he’d heard in her voice.

“There was a chair down there,” the super soldier said.

“The one in Ross’ video?” He’d managed to track down only fragments of the video, wherever Ross got it, he’d only allowed those clips online. Nat mentioned it briefly on the phone, but she’d changed the subject rapidly.

A single nod. “Buck said they used it for the mind wipes.”

Tony leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. And Nat had been in one. Nothing in the structure of the fragments Friday had broken down appeared manufactured. “Nat didn’t take it well.” It wasn’t a question.

“Understatement.” Steve crushed the empty water bottle. “It was worse than when she had the episode in Vienna. No attack—just—gone. Buck laced C-4 all over it, we located her files—the video she was watching earlier was from that box. That was all bad, but it was what happened during ex-fil…”

“The self-destruct?”

“Just before it—earlier Nat had noticed the cameras were being controlled from offsite once we were in, so we knocked them out. When we’re almost at the fence, PA system comes active. Guy comes on—indistinct accent. Greets her as Romanova, says in Russian, it’s been a long time. Calls me Captain America and calls Buck Winter Soldier, says something else in Russian about us being caught up in the Black Widow’s web. Nat reacts like this is a delaying tactic and urges us to move. I can’t say she’s wrong; Zola talked us into staying for a missile before. But then he said…don’t worry little spider, we will see each other again soon, in English and something else in Russian that roughly translated to goodbye little spider, I will find you. I will always find you.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah that’s not creepy at all.”

“She didn’t let it hold us up and we barely made it before whatever chain of explosions they set off began decimating the base.”

“Nat didn’t say anything about the voice? Who it was?” Remote access to talk over a PA system was hardly revolutionary. Old base, upgraded technology.

After scrubbing a hand over his face, Steve said, “Only that she wasn’t ready to talk about it and we haven’t had time.”

Tossing the idea around in his head like a mental ball of silly putty, Tony squeezed it to test the tension and strength. “Friday, gimme a screen, yeah?”

A holographic screen popped up. “Let’s see the captured images from the club.” Tatiana appeared in one, and the second was Alexei Shokastov—or at least who he thought it was. Steve grabbed more water then crossed to stand with him.

“That’s Tanya,” he said, nodding to the woman. “I think that’s Alexei, he was definitely at the club but Buck got a better look at him than I did.”

“They’re both ghosts at the moment.” Tony tapped a file in the corner, and it spit out another image. This one older, a stern looking young man who looked like a smile might actually crack his face. “This guy show up anywhere?”

Steve stared at Alexei for a long moment, before he looked at the second one. “No…but Alexei was in that video Nat was watching earlier.”

“Friday, did you capture enough of that to do a facial match?”

“Checking,” Friday replied immediately. “63 percent match with a probability increase to 75 percent with image enhancement. Some image degradation due to pixilation.”

“You’re starting to lose your uniqueness Cap.” The quip carried a little too much bitter truth. “Bad guy dating back to the Dr. Evil and the house of the worst who helped torture Red is still alive and hunting her today. Does that feel convenient to you?”

“Feels like a nightmare,” Steve sighed.

“But why _now_? Why when…” All at once Tony stopped. Of course, now. “Because she’s vulnerable now. She makes international news after New York, but her involvement was downplayed—you, me, Thor—we’re headline news. Big front page spreads, and lots of magazine in depth looks. Red and Barton, they fade into the background, a few pictures but…”

“SHIELD buried it. They’re undercover operatives.” Steve worked for them, he understood.

“Exactly. But flash forward a couple of years and SHIELD is in flames, and she dumps her file on the internet. She’s out there, exposed, and anyone with some patience can dig through it all.” He paced now, because the last few days Tony had to focus on the fire, not on the puzzle. Teeth sunk into the puzzle, he doesn’t plan on letting go again until he gets to the bones.

“Like Zemo.”

“Exactly.” Fingers snapping, Tony popped one palm against the side of his fist. “Now we get some cover stories about Natasha Romanoff, not always flattering ones.” And that was on him, he really should have buried her file sooner. “Natalia name is in the file, which means that’s out there too.”

“Suddenly anyone who had been looking for her makes the connection.” Steve was on board.

“But she’s still untouchable, she’s got safe houses, and she’s got us. She’s very _visible_ but so is her support structure.” She’d disappeared for a few months after SHIELD, but when she came back, she moved into the tower. Tony had wrapped security around them, and they in turn wrapped it around each other. Not wise to come after one of them, you’d get all of them.

“Then the Accords.” Steve clenched his jaw.

“And Leipzig.” That wound was still fresh, but they pushed past it. “Suddenly I’m preoccupied with Rhodey, and the fallout. You’re in the wind along with the rest of the team…”

“…and Nat’s on her own. The world is hunting her cause Ross won’t leave it alone.”

And it had taken Tony time to get over his ego. Dammit. He played into this because he cut her loose, leaving her to scramble on her own. “We really did play this all wrong—did Nat ever tell you how she got the lead for London?”

Steve shook his head. “Just said she had it, probably because she was looking for missing women. Or…you know being Nat.”

“Which means she could have literally been doing anything.” The fact Tony understood the sentiment one hundred percent made him grin a little. His smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. “But it doesn’t mean she couldn’t have been set up. Hunting her is…near impossible. We know her, we’re friends…I hope we’re friends anyway…and without Barton we wouldn’t have found her.”

“You’re thinking they have to bring her to them.” Give Captain America a cookie.

“It’s the best way to catch her, outside of kidnapping someone close to her…and that’s a lot harder. Because the team is in the wind, and her best friend is almost as much of a ghost as she is.”

“No one knows about Barton’s family…”

Tony’s gut clenched. “Friday?”

“Yes Boss?”

“We still got eyes on the Bartons?” He’d been keeping a discreet, if distant eye on Laura Barton and her children, mostly to make sure they were okay. They hadn’t deserved to be caught in the fallout. Most of them didn’t have civilian families, but Barton did and they were vulnerable.

“Mrs. Barton and all three children are secure at the farmstead. Upgraded security indicates no visitors have breached the perimeter in the 41 days since you tasked me with observation. Code white, Boss.” All clear.

They might want to increase security there. Maybe deploy members of the Iron Legion to be on hand. The Legion could at least delay, and impede a potential attack. Nat was very fond of Barton’s kids. During Tony’s singular visit to the farm, he hadn’t missed the deep affection between “Auntie Nat” and Barton’s little girl—Lisa? Lily—no, Lila.

“We need to talk to Clint,” Steve said abruptly.

“And we will, but he kept his family off the grid for a reason. After I found out about them, I checked the SHIELD data Nat dumped. Nothing there even indicated he _had_ a family.” Solid planning. Easier to secure assets if no one knew they existed.

“But if they tried to lay hands on them…”

“I’d kill them,” Natasha said quietly, and Tony’s heart leapt in his chest as he spun around. The only gratifying part of his humiliation—Steve jerked in surprise as well. Natasha leaned against the entrance to the kitchen, her arms folded. She was still dressed in the same pajamas she’d worn earlier, and sporting his hoodie. The riot of curls around her face had frizzed some as though she’d lain down for a while, maybe to sleep.

“We’d never let it come to that,” Tony promised her, even as he forced his heart to slow from a gallop back to a trot.

“Clint secured them off grid, despite the last name—there’s not even a paper trail linking them. It’s all compartmentalized…” But her expression chilled as she drifted off.

“You thought of something.” It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s a problem. But…”

“What?” Steve crossed over to her, and ease in the way he held out a hand and Tony tried not to stare, when she gave Steve a little hip bump on her way to the coffee pot.

“I’ll let you know if it’s an issue.”

Tony wasn’t thrilled with that response. “Another evasion?”

She gave him a small smile, but her gaze flicked to the holo screen and the three images on it. “Who’s the Spider Kid, Tony?”

Mouth shutting with a little click, Tony sighed. “I see your point.” Containing Peter’s identity reduced the risk of exposure. Even from them—so he got it. “If it becomes an issue, tell me? I can send a couple of the Legion, in fact, I think I should anyway, to be safe.”

“No…I appreciate it, but no.” Nat pursed her lips as she set the coffee maker up to brew a fresh pot. “That would draw attention. Anyone watching you would notice the deployment then send it up a chain of command, and attempt to follow them. We would have to assume a level of sophistication—satellite tracking, and then the question of why would Tony Stark secure this farm in the middle of no where. Civilians—soft targets—better to take first and ask questions later.” She ticked off a scenario that made his blood run cold.

“Your brain scares me sometimes, Red.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off a headache.

“It’s kept me alive. Laura and the kids could be real collateral against me. Or they could try to lure in Clint, because I have an ice cold reputation as a heartless bitch.”

Steve winced. “Nat…”

“No, I’m good with my reputation, Steve. It minimizes the chance of someone coming after a civilian to get to me.”

“But not one of the Avengers,” Tony said wryly.

“You can protect yourself Tony, so can Steve. It wouldn’t end well for anyone targeting one of us. Now it doesn’t matter, the only one visible is you.” She even managed to make it sound like a compliment rather than an insult. “It’d be damn hard to take you on the gamble I give enough of a damn to react.”

He didn’t examine the last piece too closely because there was an element of sarcasm. “Hard, but not impossible?”

“Nothing’s _impossible_.” The coffee maker hissed into the silence.

“How would you go after you?” Steve asked as he settled into leaning against the counter next to her. Nat pulled her attention from the holo screens. She had been focused on the third man. Tony should have shut it off.

“If I were the mark?” She tipped her head to the side, almost motionless, as she seemed to run through the myriad of possibilities in her mind. Or maybe just searching for one, because he didn’t see a lot of leverage outside of the Barton kids and maybe Barton—or one of the Avengers, he’d give her that, Nat would come for them. She’d come for him in Siberia.

The interesting part of their current situation lay in how Steve watched Nat. The familiarity they’d been missing or at least strained between them when they tracked her to Vienna seemed to have repaired. A fresh tension vibrated the air between them. Something had changed, or at least resolved enough to let them grow close again.

He told himself it wasn’t a problem.

It wouldn’t be.

He was very good at lying to himself, almost as good as he was at lying to others.

“The trap would have to be buried within another and another. Nested, like Russian dolls.” The response came out mechanical, but she didn’t elaborate. “Distraction would be key—Zemo had us in the palm of his hand because he played against our emotions.” Her gaze flicked to Cap. “He put James front and center, framing him for the bombing. He knew that would get your attention, you weren’t remotely quiet about searching for him.”

Steve squirmed, rubbing the back of his neck as he grimaced.

And if Tony was right, killing Nat had been a part of that. Soften the Avengers by costing them. That would _really_ have distracted them.

“He kept us looking in one direction, trusting emotion to overwhelm good judgment.” Suddenly Tony found himself within the scope of her all knowing gaze. “He made it to Siberia long before the three of you, if he’d really wanted to activate those Winter Soldiers, you could have walked into a very different kind of trap.”

Read even more difficult.

“But his endgame was never to kill you. He wanted to make the Avengers bleed, and he succeeded because he moved the goal posts. Hard to anticipate and defend if you don’t know what your opponent wants or needs.”

What did Nat want?

The team back together?

What did she need?

The same thing, right?

“What are the chances that this Alexei guy knows what you want or need?”

Nat didn’t quite laugh for real, but she let out a facsimile of a chuckle. Pouring the coffee, she said, “I haven’t seen Alexei in decades…”

“…that you know of,” Steve added on for her.

“That I know of,” she conceded as she reached across the counter and took Tony’s mug then refilled it with fresh. “My memories of Alexei mostly date back to the Red Room, when I was a lot younger. I don’t…I’m not that person anymore.”

“Did you even have a weakness then?” Curiosity was an admirable attribute, except when it encouraged former Soviet assassins to glare at him.

“No.” Not a hesitation. Not an argument. Not even a hint of doubt. “Weakness was not allowed. No emotional ties. I was allowed nothing except the next mission. If it had come down to failing my mission or allowing a child to die. I would have allowed the child to die.”

Tony flinched, but Steve rested a hand on her shoulder. “You weren’t allowed to want anything else.” Cap’s observation fit, but the cold analysis of who she’d been really didn’t match the woman today.

“No, I wasn’t—I’m much easier to get to today. I’ve been compromised.” The last delivered with an almost reluctant resignation.

“It’s okay, Red,” Tony summoned a smirk as he spoke. “I’d do anything for a hot bod, so I get why you can’t let us down.”

She snorted, but didn’t argue the point. Instead she nodded to the holo screen. “Who’s the third guy?”

Almost grateful for the change in subject, Tony glanced away from where Steve had slid his arm around Nat’s shoulders. She hadn’t shrugged him off, but she wasn’t leaning into him either. Had things changed that much between them?

“You don’t know him?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

“The name Ivanovich ring a bell?” He almost grimaced at the slip of the tongue. Nat had issues with her memory and he wanted to play twenty questions. _Get it together, Stark._ “Piotr Ivanovich?”

She gave him a blank look, and then stared at the third image intently. “Should the name mean something to me?”

Feeling a bit like an ass, he said, “I don’t know. Maybe? A friend of yours came to see me in New York.”

Her gaze switched to him so swiftly, he almost felt the need to hold his hands up. “Who?” The razor edge of her tone promised violence even as she swept him from head to toe. Looking for an injury?

The concern relaxed some of the tension in his gut. “A lawyer—Matt Murdock?”

Honestly, Tony had no idea what to expect when he dropped the name. Murdock surprised him with the visit to the tower. Though Friday said he wasn’t armed, he’d still be on guard for a possible ambush having a stranger show up acting as though they were a friend or even a friend of a friend, just to get at him. But her, “Matty?” And the instant surprise softened her expressionless face even as her eyes warmed. “Matty came to see you?”

Okay. Matty sounded way too affectionate and after Murdock’s implied familiarity, Tony wasn’t a fan. “That’s what he said. Lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen. Apparently you saved his life and he came across some information he thought I could use to help you.”

“Oh.” For a split second, she scraped her teeth over her lower lip. The hint of vulnerability rocked him. Then her professional mask slipped back into place. Damn, he was getting good at spotting them, and the fact she’d armed herself with it told him _Matty_ meant more to her than just some guy whose life she saved. “What information?”

At least Rogers seemed similarly thrown, and considered her warily. At least Tony wasn’t paddling the unknown waters on his own.

“Just that he’d gotten word of a rather significant bounty being off for your capture. Specificity in the terms seemed to worry him more than the bounty itself.”

“I’ve had kill orders before,” she said with a casual shrug. No. Just no. The idea of people gunning to kill her shouldn’t be so passé.

“These guys don’t appear to want you dead. They want you captured.”

“Ross?” Steve hazarded.

“Doubt it. Ross definitely wants her dead.” The meeting at the tower had confirmed it for him. The Secretary of State had gone quiet since Tony let the dogs loose in, but he didn’t trust it. Ross wouldn’t be that easily done away with. It had been years where Bruce was concerned, and the former general hadn’t come close to letting that go.

“But Matty had a picture of this guy?” She waved off the threat of Ross as though it were a nuisance, circling back to her original topic.

“No, he only had a name.” Tony hadn’t intended to drop this bomb on her, at least not until he could vet it fully and verify the truth. But verifying it had proven as unwieldy as tracking Alexei. Based on recent circumstances, a lack of reliable secondary data didn’t disprove the validity. If anything, the similarities between Alexei’s vanishing act and this mysterious guy’s lack of a visible digital footprint seemed too coincidental to be anything but true. “Piotr Ivanovich, Friday and I did some research—mostly Friday—but then I helped narrow it down. This guy has ties directly with Russia, worked in the U.S., owned a warehouse at the wharf—not one that was raided recently by NYPD, but close enough to be virtually next door. He’s the source of the contract according to your Matty.”

Okay, maybe that last line came out a little snotty.

Or a lot snotty based on the way Rogers stiffened and cut a glance from him to her, then back again.

“Green isn’t your color, Shellhead,” Natasha said lightly, returning her gaze to the picture. It wasn’t the best quality, Tony would admit. “And I have no idea why this guy would offer any kind of bounty on me. Granted, I don’t remember anything, but—the last couple of decades are pretty clear. I don’t know him.”

Sucking back the bitter lemon of his uncharitable thoughts, Tony focused at the issue on hand. “Ma—” Yeah, he wasn’t saying Matt or Matty again, thank you very much. “Murdock linked him to Ivan Petrovich.”

Glacial frost chilled her green eyes and she pulled away from Steve to prowl closer to the holo screen.

“According to Murdock, this is Petrovich’s grandson.”

“That’s impossible,” Nat said slowly, tilting her head as she stared fixedly at the face. Committing it to memory maybe? God, he would hate it if he couldn’t trust his own mind. That was…he couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

“From what Murdock said, he _overheard_ …” And no, he didn’t mute the sarcasm in his voice. “…some Russians talking about this guy and Petrovich. Claims that Petrovich held your leash and this guy knows how to as well.”

“Tony…” Steve admonished him, and it took a beat for Tony’s ego to sit down and shut up.

“Sorry,” he told her abruptly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t mean anything at all, you don’t believe Matty but you’re researching it anyway.” Well…yes.

“He seemed pretty confident. Though how a blind guy just overhears Russians discussing that kind of information seems damn shady.” Then because he had to ask, “Think he might be a distraction…to get under your skin or at least point me in the wrong direction?”

“According to the tabloids, we’re just one step away from Henry VIII sending Anne Bolyn to the guillotine.”

“Sure if you ignore the fact I didn’t dump Pepper for you and that we’ve never had sex much less been married, but let’s go with that theory.”

A smile eased the white lines of tension around Nat’s lips. “Graphic, but accurate. Matt wouldn’t bring this to you unless he was seriously concerned.”

“Who is Matt Murdock?” Steve asked with a kind of directness Tony should have, but it irked him more than he cared to admit when Matt implied how well he knew her when Tony had never even heard of the guy.

In truth, Nat had probably known a lot of people in her long life and frankly the rotating door to Tony’s bed had hardly been empty before Afghanistan. Tony Stark didn’t do jealousy. He didn’t.

Except—Nat.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Nat’s chastising look and Tony sighed. She was going to tweak him. It was coming. Turning to face them, she set her mug down and folded her arms. “Matt Murdock and I dated for a few months—it was a while ago. Before New York. We didn’t work out, but we’re friends. Or at least…friendly.”

“How friendly? With benefits friendly? Or pistols at dawn if you’re in the same zip code friendly?” Not the most politic of Tony’s responses, but Steve was the one who smiled this time even as his gaze darted to Nat.

See, he wasn’t alone in his curiosity. Totally justified now, Tony studied her expression looking for any clues. Not that he expected to find them, but he looked anyway.

“Deti!” The muttered word sounded more like an oath than anything else, and Tony made a mental note to ask Friday for a translation later. “Yes, Matthew and I had sex. Then we didn’t. He occasionally calls me for assistance. I see him, I help out, I go back to work. I haven’t seen Matt since…well since just after SHIELD fell.”

Steve frowned. “When you were building a new cover?”

At her nod, he folded his arms, yet Natasha didn’t add anything on that point. “We’re friendly. If Matt brought this to you, though, it means he believed wherever he obtained the information and thought it serious enough I should know.”

“You don’t think he’s lying.” That was unsettling.

“I have no reason to think that…Matt doesn’t…Matt can bend the truth, but he believes in justice. Someone hunting me wouldn’t have worried him that much. He knows damn well I can take care of myself.”

The description fit what Tony observed in the lawyer’s behavior. It also lowered him a few notches in his estimation. Damn straight Nat could take care of herself, but Tony wouldn’t just pretend that was enough. “Wait…leash. Do you have trigger words like Barnes?”

All the color drained out of Steve’s face and Nat’s expression cooled several degrees to arctic.

“And that was a really stupid question,” Tony answered for himself. “If you did—and you knew. Telling others would be dangerous. And if you don’t know, you can’t tell us. Sorry Red…still getting the hang of all of this.” It was a weak apology, but he’d been off center since she’d been on the phone sounding so damn broken. It just pissed him off, and he hadn’t found an easy fix for the situation or even a hard one.

She was never going to let him build a suit of armor around her to keep the rest of the world away.

Never.

“It’s not a stupid question,” Steve said slowly before Nat could respond. “Not after Bucky.”

“James…I read James’ files, I don’t know how similar his training and conditioning were to mine.” Distaste underscored the words. They were too pretty and polite when applied to her, and based on what he’d seen—ridiculous when applied to Barnes. “I didn’t have a life before the Red Room, they had nothing to obliterate in me.”

Except her morals, her conscience… nature versus nurture. If she’d been a blank slate, then Natasha would be heartless. She was anything but that, no matter how she played it.

“That said,” Natasha continued before he interrupted. “I did have triggers—I do have triggers.” She gave Steve a steady look. “Vienna wasn’t the first time that’s ever happened to me, and it wasn’t even the worst. I disappeared on Clint three months after I finally made it to probationary status. It took him weeks to find me, and…well it wasn’t pretty when he did.”

“God, Nat. I’m sorry.” Steve raked a hand through his hair and shifted his weight like he wanted to go to her, but restrained himself.

“Guys,” she said gently, glancing from Steve to Tony, then back again. Her tone modulated, a soothing note floating just under it. “My past isn’t pretty. Ivan Petrovich… Ivan was the closest thing I had to a father.”

Great.

Darth Vader was her dad.

Pretty sure she didn’t want to be called Princess Leia.

But he could live with being Han. Tony had to fight the smirk, because wholly inappropriate. Sometimes inappropriate worked.

“He was there for all of it…I was his favorite.” The emptiness in her eyes sucked all the humor out of his thoughts and Steve clenched his fists. “Understanding that, know that it’s entirely possible Ivan had control phrases. All he had to do was tell me he needed or wanted something and I would have done anything to make that happen. I _needed_ to succeed for him. That became a driving need for everything. Failure was never an option. Were they triggers? I don’t know. SHIELD—SHIELD spent a lot of time and energy reconditioning me, debriefing and trying to pull all of that out. But hey—SHIELD turned out to be Hydra and maybe they put more back in.”

Tony’s heart fucking broke at the lost note there.

“I trust Clint. I know he didn’t do this. The rest?” She spread her hands. “I wish I remembered. Maybe it’s in those files…and that’s more reason to go through it.”

“It’s more reason for you to walk away,” Steve argued and not for the first time this evening, Tony found he and Rogers aligned perfectly. “You sit this out and let us take care of it.”

“Not happening,” she told them, implacable.

“Why not, Red?” Tony threw his hat in the ring. “I know for damn certain neither of us have trigger phrases. Someone isn’t going to say three words to me and I end up back in that cave or Rogers in the ice. The threat against you…and Barnes,” he tacked on the Winter Soldier, “is _real_.”

“I don’t care. It’s _my_ fight. This is _my_ past. And I’m not submitting _any_ of you to it.” End of argument as far as she was concerned, it seemed. Dropping her hands to her hips, she sighed. “If anyone had my trigger phrases, do you think I’d even still be here?”

“And Ivan’s grandson here? The one your Matty brought to me?” He hadn’t meant to yell, but dammit, Nat still didn’t value her own sanity enough to let them shield her from this.

“He’s not his grandson—Ivan Petrovich had no children.”

“Are you sure?” Steve demanded. “There’s so much you don’t remember…”

“I remember Ivan. I remember him…at the Red Room and after. I remember he called me _milaya devushka_ —sweet girl. I was his pride and joy. He had no other children. This I know.”

“Not even in the Red Room.” Tony hated himself a little because Nat flinched.

But when Steve asked, “What about _malen'kiy pauk_?” she folded her arms, as if needing to protect herself. Nat didn’t have tells. Most of the time Tony couldn’t read her, so if she displayed distress.

“Wait…” Holding a hand up toward Steve, Tony kept an eye on her. “We’re not attacking you. I know it sounds like it and maybe…maybe I was. But we’re not. We want to protect you.”

There. He’d firmly aligned himself with Steve because they were on the same side in this. If not friends, then at least allies.

Natasha sighed and tilted her head back, eyes closed. She took several long breaths, almost silent breaths. Finally, without looking at either of them, she said, “I know you’re not attacking and no, Steve. He never called me Little Spider, and please never say that again.”

Noted.

Expression pained. Steve nodded. “I won’t.”

When she remained quiet, Tony said, “Steve, can you give us a minute?”

The immediate no he’d half expected didn’t make an appearance, instead Steve focused on Natasha. “You okay with that?”

After a longer moment, she nodded. “Yeah, you should get some sleep. I know you haven’t had a lot.”

“I’m fine. Do you want me to wait for you?”

Nope. Tony wasn’t going to touch that. If Nat wanted Captain America to tuck her into bed, he didn’t get to have an opinion.

Out loud.

“Probably not the best idea tonight,” she told him, and it was almost gentle. “Go get some rest. I’ll be fine…and before you ask, I will be here in the morning.”

The promise seemed to settle him, and Steve crossed over and pressed a kiss to her temple, then another across her lips. She let him, too.

Fuck, how much had changed?

“Night Tony.”

“Steve.”

Then Captain America left them alone and walked out of the kitchen. “Friday,” Tony said after Steve’s steps vanished up the stairs. “Engage privacy mode.”

“Privacy mode engaged.”

“More silent running?” Nat asked.

“Super soldier ears are too sharp,” Tony reminded her. “I wanted a minute without him listening in here or out there.”

“Okay.” No judgment. Just acceptance.

“You and Rogers?” That wasn’t what he meant to ask, but the words slipped out. He didn’t want to doubt Nat or get blindsided by secrets again. He just…didn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said, and lifted her shoulders in a little shrug.

“He wants more.” No doubt in Tony’s mind.

“I’m aware, but I’m not really the best prospect for him.”

“You care about him.” Definitely not a question, no matter how bitter it tasted.

“I care about all of you,” she told him, not shying away from it. “Caring doesn’t make it okay or make it something either of us should pursue.”

“But you want to…”

“Tony? What are you doing?” She met his gaze.

“Testing the waters,” he told her, not shying away from what he wanted. “If it’s you and Rogers…look just, getting the lay of the land here. You two are closer than when I left. I don’t want to step on any toes.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes and crunched his ego. That was—humbling.

“I don’t know what we are. Yes, he’s expressed wanting more. Yes, I care. Yes—we kissed.”

It hurt a little less than he thought it might, but it still burned. “Okay. Then I know where I stand.”

“Do you? Good, because I don’t. I—I don’t get involved with people, Tony. Not like that.”

“You mean men?”

“I mean people.” Okay. Nat was bi. He could get behind that.

“But you and Murdock?”

“We didn’t work out, as evidenced by the fact you’d never heard of him.” Nice retort, except…

“I’d never heard of Laura Barton either and Clint has three kids.”

She winced. “Conceded.”

“Thank you.”

“Tony…all of this…it’s not because you want…”

“No,” he said slowly. “Not just because. But I’m not opposed either.”

“Oh.”

“Keep kicking my ego, it could really use the workout.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced to the window. It had started snowing again. Chances were it’d look like one of those fairytale lands out there in the morning. A certain kind of irony.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“I’m not,” he said, then glanced over at her. “C’mon Red, it’s me. I’ve been interested since you strutted into the house at Malibu.”

“I didn’t strut.”

“Oh you most certainly did. All buttoned up in your sexy little white shirt, demure and sweet. Then you kicked Happy’s ass—sexiest damn thing I’d ever seen.” A little too exposed, he shrugged. “You’re hot. What can I say? I’d never kick you out of bed.”

“Except for the whole mind-blowingly duplicitous part?” The curved tips of her lips promised him it was indeed teasing.

“Just made you sexier, Agent Romanoff.”

A real smile graced her face. “Having guys like me has never been hard. Most men want to get me into bed. Some women.” From anyone else, it would be a brag. But Tony understood his own sexuality and appeal as clearly as she did her own.

“Don’t doubt it.”

“Friends are harder,” she admitted. “Friends…friends make you weak.”

“Because friends can hurt you. Family, too.” Obie. Maya. His dad.

“Like I hurt you.”

He didn’t dispute it. “We’re still friends, Red.”

“Even after…?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “This thing…between us? It only ever has to be friendship.” Magnanimous he wasn’t, except… “If Rogers is what you want. Then go for it. And I’m saying this as someone who isn’t his biggest fan, but that kind of loyalty? It’s priceless.” If he could put her above Barnes, Steve might be good enough.

Not really, but Tony wasn’t going to deny her having something she wanted.

“Tony…you’re a mess.”

“Thank you,” he said, self-deprecating smile firmly in place. “I think.”

“Lovers can’t always be friends.” Then… “And to be honest, I’ve really only ever had marks. Being a friend is hard….being a lover is…it’s harder.”

“What about Murdock?” Okay. Yes, he was jealous. Guy he’d never heard of—blind guy even—had Nat and he’d let her go. Mind-blowing didn’t begin to cover it.

“Why do you think we didn’t work out?” She lifted her eyebrows. “They trained me how to seduce people, it’s—a reflex. They never taught me how to have friends.” When he said nothing, she exhaled a long breath. “Matt…is a good man. He has a very _strict_ code. I disappointed him. A lot.”

“He still cares about you, Red.” Why he felt the need to tell her that, he didn’t know, but he hated when she kicked herself. Rogers had a damn code, too. What happened when she disappointed him?

“I know he does. I care about him, but we’re never going to be friends.” And that lay at the crux of her sadness. It just seemed so clear.

“But you and Clint?” Yes, Tony keep playing with the dynamite. What was the worse that could happen?

“Never lovers. Wanted to be once…but he turned me down, very gently, and very sweetly. Then later he introduced me to Laura.”

Oh.

“Clint’s the first real friend I’ve ever had, and he’s more precious to me than any lover.”

Ouch.

“So I’m glad, because emotions cloud things. Sex gets complicated.”

Double ouch.

He studied her for a long time, then crossed the distance between them. Slowly, he withdrew his hands from his pockets and lifted them toward her face. “May I?”

At her nod, he stroked his thumbs over her cheeks before cradling her face in the palms of his hands. Yeah. He wanted her.

God, he wanted her.

But… “I can be your friend, Red. I meant what I said. Never has to go any farther than that.”

She covered one of his hands with her own. “You’re a sweet liar, Tony…”

“Thank you,” he said, blinking a little. “I think.”

“I—you’re welcome.” Then she stepped forward, and it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arms around her. Nat fit against him, and he slid one hand into her hair, and kept the other planted on her back. As for the curves pressing against him, his body didn’t get the memo, but he ignored it.

“I really don’t want to mess anything up…with any of you,” she told him, voice muffled.

“I know,” he said. He was an adult. He could handle it.

Mostly.

Still, he didn’t let her go and she didn’t try to pull away.

“Be straight with me,” he said, taking advantage of the fact they couldn’t see each other’s faces. “Even if Petrovich didn’t have any kids, what about the other Red Room graduates? This Alexei character? Could they know?”

“Maybe.” Well at least she didn’t sugarcoat it. “But I can’t run away because they _might_ know something. They’re experimenting on people—and it sounds like they are trying to rebuild the Red Room. I can’t let that happen.”

If they tried to align against her, she would go. Because wasn’t that exactly why Tony built his suit in the first place? Destroyed his weapon caches? Destroyed the caches of his weapons in terrorist hands? Yeah. He got it.

“Then we need to figure this guy out,” he said, pulling away, but keeping an arm around her so they could turn to the holo screen. “Piotr Ivanovich is out there. Alexei is out there. Tanya is out there. And these other bases are out there.”

“Yeah,” she said on a slow exhale and leaned against him. That she trusted him enough—yeah, it had to be enough. He could make it enough. “This is going to get messy.”

“It’s already messy, Red. But I’m not going anywhere. You guys need backup.”

“The Accords?”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “Don’t worry about them. I’ve got a plan.”

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve a murder bot.” Light. Teasing. It made him giddy.

“That happened once…well okay twice. But never let it be said I don’t learn from my mistakes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Was she laughing at him?

Yeah. She was probably laughing at him.

That was okay.

“I’m also ahead on the Ross bet.”

“We didn’t make a bet,” she retorted. “And I thought we were doing it together.”

Tony had memorized the faces on the holo screen, but he took the time to go over them again. “I changed my mind, because I’m winning. Therefore, bet.”

She laughed. “Fine, what are we betting?”

“Winner takes the loser out for a fantastic dinner, and a night of doing whatever they want.”

“Isn’t it usually the loser who forfeits? Doesn’t sound like a bad bet.”

“Is this your secret way of letting me know you want to go out on a date with me?” Yes. He smirked.

Another soft laugh, and she bumped him. “I don’t know, is this your way of asking me out on a date?”

“Sure,” he drew out the single syllable word. “Let’s go with that.”

“Okay.”

Wait. “What?”

“I said okay. I accept the terms of the bet.”

“So you’ll go out with me?”

“Yep. But if I win, you have to go where I want to go.”

“And then we do whatever I want for the rest of the evening.” Maybe he’d made that too enticing.

“True, but if you win, you have to do what _I_ want for the rest of the evening.”

He could live with that. “Sounds like a win, win to me.”

Drawing away, Nat turned to where she’d left her coffee mug. “I know, right? I’ve always wanted to take over the world.”

“Sure…wait…what?”

“Play the bad guys for a night. You. Me. I bet we could do it.” There was a spark in her eyes.

“Tasha…”

“Well, that or we could dress up like pirates and loot some grocery stores.”

“Grocery stores?” He could feel a headache coming on.

“Sure. Food is food. Or…you’re probably as good with security systems as I am…we could test the high end systems at a few museums, maybe even the Tower of London. The queen has this really good looking set of emeralds I’ve had my eye on.”

“You’re hilarious. Really. I’m laughing so hard. On the inside.”

Nat grinned, the expression warming her whole face and lighting up her eyes. “C’mon, one of those tempted you.”

“I refuse to comment on the grounds that you will tease me forever.”

That earned him a laugh and she saluted him with her coffee before she took a sip. “But you feel better, don’t you?”

Tony paused, then eyed her. Yes. He did feel better. The jealousy/guilt combo gnawing on his gut had eased away.

“Mind-blowingly duplicitous is good sometimes,” she reminded him. “It helps get our friends out of their heads and remind them life isn’t always terrible.”

Coming from someone always in pain? What could he really say? “Fine. But if you win, then we’re going to dress up in chicken suits and go caroling in the park.”

Two could play that game.

Her smile grew.

Worth it.


	33. I'd sit this one out, Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams remind everyone how tenuous their situation is as Bucky regains a sliver of his memories.
> 
> 30 days after starting this fic, 200,000 words, and a new chapter every day! Woo hoo! I'm still a little startled I've been writing this for a month!

Chapter Thirty-Three

_I’d sit this one out, Cap_

 

Steve

 

 

All things considered, the days since he set out from Wakanda to find Natasha with Clint had gone well. They’d found her—wounded, yes, but alive. He’d managed to reconnect with her, as they waded through her anger and disappointment in his choices—and his about the possibility that she’d lied to him. In choosing Bucky, he’d forgotten the rest of his friends and he’d put them all in terrible positions. It wasn’t the most comfortable reality to accept.

Worse of all, he’d had a hand in destroying Nat’s world, all over again. She seemed to if not forgive him, at least let it go. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized what he wanted with her. He wanted the closeness and friendship they’d shared before, and to take it further. Kissing her cemented the desire.

After Siberia, he didn’t think Tony would ever forgive him. He deserved Tony’s wrath, he’d kept a hard truth from him. Yet, here they were, rebuilding—he hoped. The billionaire had made accommodations for Bucky, and didn’t seem to harbor the desire to kill him. Steve and Tony were communicating. They were a long way from friends, but they weren’t enemies. It was something. If Tony wanted to reach out, then Steve would cross every bridge to meet him.

Bucky was with him again, woken early from cryo and still recovering—but he was doing so well. Better than Steve could have imagined. He seemed to be connecting with Clint, fostering a potential friendship. Perhaps the most distressing was also the one Steve had the most difficult time faulting him for—Buck and Natasha shared some kind of connection. As hard a pill as it was for him to swallow, Steve kept seeing glimmers of the old Bucky when he was around her—flirting, teasing, and even picking on Steve.

Was it possible to adore and despise the same thing? Probably. Even as they peeled back the layers of Natasha’s dark history, he and Bucky were together and she was allowing them to help—to be her support. _She_ brought them together. Clint. Tony. Bucky. Steve. If Thor and Banner were around, she would probably snare them into the web, too. A selfish part of him, however, remained happy that Banner hadn’t added another ripple to the already difficult situation. It was all complicated and very messy, yet he was almost sinfully happy to be in the middle of it all.

Shame edged his joy, however. From the moment he’d woken from the ice to an unfamiliar world, he struggled to understand where he belonged. Fighting aliens had been remarkably easy by comparison. The aliens were a clearly defined enemy. Working at SHIELD forged new connections, allowing him to sink tentative roots. Yet, what Steve held to be moral or ethical didn’t fit with modern sensibilities. The ironic part? People and politics hadn’t changed so much, just the polite veneers had been rusted away, while genuine sincerity came off as mock worthy.

The worst part of all, the part he shared with no one and couldn’t explain—the sense of disconnection hadn’t begun with his rousing from the ice. No, the roots of that issue had been planted in the 1920s and 30s, growing up a skinny, sickly kid who couldn’t keep up with the others, always struggling for a little to get by. That kid hadn’t really fit into the world either. Dr. Erskine’s experiment had driven a deeper wedge between he and world rather than bring him closer.

Most days, he could pretend it didn’t matter. He could focus on the present. Maybe it was why Natasha’s _we have what we have when we have it_ resonated a little too powerfully for him. So, he concentrated on the joy of having Bucky with him, and how well he was doing, how he seemed to be adapting to the team and making a place for himself. Savored the feel of Nat’s lips beneath his, the spark in her eyes when she teased him, the sharpness of her wit when she corrected him, and the fierceness of her heart as she cared for all of them—even from her own past.

In all of this, he hadn’t realized how genuinely well it had been going until Bucky’s hoarse, and guttural screams ripped him from sleep and sent him tumbling out of bed. Steve rolled to his feet, shield in hand automatically. It took a few seconds and another strangled cry to galvanize him.

He bolted from his room across the shared sitting room to Bucky’s room. Instead of sleeping in his bed, his oldest friend continued to sleep on a pallet in his closet.

“Buck?” The lights were off, but his eyes had adjusted and he got the door open and barely managed to raise the shield in time before a metal fist impacted against the vibranium. “Bucky!”

Another slam, and then they wrestled for control of the shield. The sounds coming from Bucky’s throat ripped through Steve. They were harsh, unrecognizable syllables. But he was too busy fending off flurry of violent punches, and blows. Something crashed behind him and he bounced off the bed as his friend drove him backward.

“Friday, lights!”

His eyes dazzled and watered as brightness flooded the room. It gave him his first look at a haggard and wild-eyed Bucky. The other man lashed out, his right foot connecting with Steve’s thigh and sending Steve crashing away.

“Bucky!”

Instead of pursuing him, Bucky hurled himself from the room. His unintelligible muttering repeated, as if he were communicating even if Steve couldn’t make out the words. Shoving himself to his feet, he chased after Bucky. The door to the hall crashed open, the former assassin merely shattering the wood as he charged through it.

Friday said something, but Steve could barely make it out over the din. Three steps ahead of him, Bucky leapt over the railing and landed with a crash against the expensive tile below. The world narrowed as Steve gripped the railing to fling himself after and follow. Bucky darted forward toward the wide living room where they’d watched movies and Steve caught a flash of crimson from the corner of his eye as he landed.

_No!_

The whine of repulsors punched past the roaring of his pulse in his ears. Before him, like some jagged tableau, Bucky faced Natasha, his body in a battle stance and his fists clenched. She was still dressed in the pajamas and hoodie she’d worn most of the day, the wild tumble of red curls framing her face softly. A half-step behind her, Tony had his hand up even as his armor crawled over him, forming the Iron Man suit like it had been painted on, and the repulsor in his right palm lit up.

“Stop!” Nat extended one hand to Bucky and held the other up toward Tony. Tony who’d said one slip, just one, and all bets were off where Bucky was concerned. “ _Stoyat vniz, soldat._ _Stoyat vniz.”_

Hard, ragged breaths punched out of Bucky’s lungs as he stared at the pair in front of him. Yet, he didn’t continue his mad charge. Steve eased forward a step, but Natasha shook her head ever so slightly without taking her gaze off Bucky. Tony hadn’t shot him yet, but with the mask in place, Steve couldn’t read his expression.

Nat took a single step forward, her bare hand still raised. Her posture softened and her lashes swept down a fraction as she dipped her eyes almost submissive.

“Tasha,” Tony said in the softest of voices. “What are you doing?”

But she didn’t answer. “ _Stoyat vniz, soldat. Bitva okonchena.”_

Heart in his throat, Steve tried to swallow around it every time she said soldat. Gradually, the tension in Bucky’s posture began to ease. But he was by no means relaxed.

Fist unclenching, Bucky raised his metal hand to almost mirror Natasha’s pose. A flicker of a small smile graced her lips. Steve had to hold his breath as Tony’s threatening, and defensive posture didn’t relax. He could almost feel the other man’s teeth grinding or maybe it was his own. Because Bucky was reaching out with that hand—the same one he’d nearly strangled Natasha with, the one he’d slammed into Steve’s face repeatedly and those images played on some kind of vicious loop across his mind’s eye.

“ _Zvezda moya_.” The words were hard to understand, but Bucky’s broken and hoarse voice was unrecognizable. It was as though he’d swallowed glass, ground down and painful.

His fingertips barely brushed Nat’s and she smiled a little more. “ _Stoyat vniz, soldat.”_ Then she turned her hand, palm facing upward and Steve had the most uncomfortable double vision and horrifying déjà vu to the first time she’d used the lullaby on Banner. Then, as now, she seemed almost insubstantial against the raging threat facing her. She had on no armor, hell her feet were bare, and if Bucky lashed out—Steve could be on him in a second and Tony was right there, but it would still take time between his firing and the blast hitting Bucky.

A second was too long if he lashed out.

Too long.

The tension continued to bleed out of Bucky’s shoulders and he lowered his hand over hers, the tips of his fingers grazing her wrist. How the hell had Steve missed how fragile she was against Bucky’s bulk?

 _“Vdova?”_ Softer. Questioning. Almost hesitant.

 _“Soldat.”_ It seemed to reassure him, and he turned his metal hand over, laying the back of his hand against her palm. And like with Banner, she eased her fingers from beneath his, then touched his forearm, then wrist, and finally his palm—light brushes of her fingers.

Bucky shuddered and collapsed to his knees, then he pitched forward, his forehead against her stomach as his ragged gulps of breath punched out of him.

“Shh,” she murmured, letting her hand rest against his hair. Nat flicked her green eyes up, meeting Steve’s gaze. “Shh, it’s all right, Soldier. You’re safe.”

Was she talking to him or to Bucky?

Maybe both.

Steve straightened from his battle crouch, his own breath coming in pants and he looked past Nat to Tony. Iron Man hadn’t moved, his stance defensive and Steve had to wonder what it cost him to not fire immediately. Even with Nat between them, Tony possessed the right skills to get Bucky away from her and pull her clear.

“We’re okay down here, Hawkeye.” Nat’s murmur had Steve glancing over his shoulder. Standing at the top of the other stairs with a clean line of sight, Clint waited a beat to lower his gun. Like Steve, he was dressed in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. Though his hair was rumpled from sleep, his eyes were sharp and clear.

Bucky hadn’t moved away from her, just knelt there leaning into her as she kept her legs braced against his weight and carded her fingers through his hair.

“We’re just fine.” Her soothing tone didn’t waver. “Maybe we want some hot chocolate?” The question might have included all of them, but she directed it at Bucky.

A little nod indicated he’d heard her at least.

“Then we’re going to make some hot chocolate. Can you stand, James?”

Steve dropped the arm holding the shield, but kept it at his side. Tony took a few beats longer to lower his hand and eased back a step. The clunk of metal sent a ripple over Bucky, and he shuddered. Natasha fisted her hand lightly in his hair, a little tug and the man at her feet stilled.

“James?”

He said something, but it was too muffled for Steve to make out for certain. It could have been another word in Russian or it could have simply been sorry. Tony didn’t move, and Clint didn’t leave his perch at the top of the stairs. With a patient kind of grace, Nat leaned away a fraction.

“James.” No question in her tone this time, but a command.

Bucky glanced up at her and Nat raised an eyebrow.

“Can you stand?”

He nodded a little, then pushed to his feet as though he’d fought a long battle, and it still staggered him. She pulled her hands away, keeping them loose and open at her sides.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, his shoulders hunched and his head down as if he expected some reprisal.

“We’re fine,” she told him. “Let’s go to the kitchen and make the hot cocoa, yeah?” Then she surprised the hell out of Steve when she offered Bucky her hand and he clasped it, metal on skin. “We’re all going to have hot cocoa,” she said, sweeping a gaze over all of them. “I bet Tony’s even got marshmallows.”

“I like marshmallows,” Bucky’s response, almost childlike in its quality punctured the last of the tension. Nat guided him around Steve and Clint made his way down the stairs. Not letting them out of his sight, Steve realized belatedly and he pivoted to follow their path with his gaze.

Behind him, the crinkle of folding metal pulled his attention. Tony’s suit retreated over him, blending down to a single triangle on his chest.

“That’s new,” he commented, impressed.

“Yeah,” Tony responded, but they were both looking at the kitchen. “What happened?”

“No idea.” Steve moistened his lips. “Friday?”

“A nightmare, I believe Captain Rogers. Though I could be mistaken. He began crying out approximately four minutes before the increased volume woke you.”

“A nightmare,” Tony said, his tone flat.

“Yeah.” Steve had them. Hell, the whole team had them at one point or another. “Nat’s right about the hot cocoa.” It was a dark of the night tradition. How many times had she made it for Steve when dreams of the war? Of Peggy? Of aliens attacking 1940s Brooklyn dragged him awake screaming? How many times had he found her sharing a mug with Clint, Banner, or even Tony? Later, it would be Wanda, or Rhodey, occasionally Sam.

Oddly, the sense of familiarity grounded him.

“He came straight for her, Cap.” Warning punched up Tony’s quiet tone.

“I know.” He wouldn’t even argue it. Tony and Nat had apparently still been up. Still talking—a glance at the clock told him at least couple of hours had passed since Steve went to bed. They’d still been down here. There were a couple of blankets unfolded, almost discarded on the sofa as if abandoned quickly and someone had added fresh logs to the fire.

Maybe they had some catching up to do. The jagged tip of jealousy raked across his belly, threatening to gouge him open.

“He had a nightmare and his first thought was to go after her?” Was Tony asking or telling?

“His first thought seemed to be get away from me.” The idea struck him with an entirely different kind of pain. In his nightmare-fueled haze, Bucky hadn’t seemed to recognize Steve at all. It was the hellicarrier all over again. It was the highway in D.C. “Maybe getting away was all he wanted to do.” Maybe if Nat had been in bed…

Maybe.

Maybe.

“Hmm.”

“Cocoa’s almost ready,” Nat’s voice carried from the kitchen and he and Tony shared a look before they headed in. Bucky sat at the island, shoulders still hunched. A faint flinch told Steve he heard them coming in, but he didn’t look up. Clint leaned against the fridge, with no obstacles between he and Bucky. Nat was at the stove, humming as she stirred real chocolate into the simmering milk.

Steve moved over to sit near, but not right next to Bucky. The tension in his posture as Steve drew close told him to keep giving him space. Setting the shield down within reach, he slumped into a chair. Tony skirted them both and moved over to peer in the mugs Nat had lined up.

“This is the secret recipe one, isn’t it?”

“Hmmm,” was Nat’s only response.

“You should learn to share, Red. I haven’t had this in months.” Tony’s tone was casual as he reached a hand toward the chocolate squares Nat fed into the milk. He’d just reached the stack, when she slapped his hand and he yanked it backward. “Ow.”

A smirk. “You know better. You can have a chocolate square or cocoa, which will it be?”

Tony grumbled. “It’s not like I paid for it or anything.”

“It’s not like you know how to make it or anything.” The almost angelic response made Steve smile. Nat made the best hot cocoa, and she always used different kinds of chocolate—milk, white, and dark.

“Fine,” Tony huffed, folding his arms and leaning against the cabinetry. The position wasn’t lost on Steve. Barton had her back, standing slightly to the right and near the fridge, his line of sight to Bucky unimpeded. Clint’s gun wasn’t visible, but Steve didn’t doubt that it wasn’t in reach, maybe even tucked into the waistband of his sweats. Tony stayed close, probably ready to armor up and step between Nat and Bucky, again.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Steve sighed. What, forty-eight hours ago? A little more or a little less? Bucky scaled a cliff with Nat clinging to his back. He’d carried her when she stumbled. Sat with her in the tent, trading off with Steve to keep her warm. They’d made it into and out of Azzano without a single incident.

Hell, he hadn’t had a nightmare that Steve noticed since he arrived.

So had he not been having them at all? Or had Steve just not realized? If the former, then what triggered it tonight? If the latter, how terrible a friend had Steve been?

“Sorry, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled dragging Steve out of his dark thoughts.

He opened his mouth to say _it’s okay_ , but the words didn’t come immediately. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay that Buck had been so deep in the throes of a nightmare he’d lashed out. It wasn’t okay that he’d crashed through the house and gone straight for Nat—though Steve would argue that could still have been accidental. Common sense said his reaction to her wasn’t accidental, though. She’d been able to talk him down, and hadn’t thrown a single punch.

“I know,” he said, finally settling on a response. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A quick shake of the head.

“Okay,” Steve said, letting him off the hook. “For now.” He didn’t want to place caveats or restrictions on it, but as Sam had reminded him frequently, bottling up the bad dreams gave them power. Talking hurt. Keeping quiet could kill. “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

A little nod, and Bucky tucked his arms closer and glanced over at Nat as she lifted the pot from the heat and began pouring the hot cocoa into the mugs. Tony accepted his, then Clint, and Clint carried one over to Steve. Nat carried the last two, and instead of sitting across from Bucky or at least away, she slid onto the stool next to him. Clint didn’t retreat, standing across from the pair of them, Tony lingering just on the other side of Nat.

“I didn’t put marshmallows in yours,” she told Bucky as she held onto his mug, her own resting on the counter. “Did you want marshmallows?”

The question forced him to glance up at her from beneath the hair falling over his eyes. A little shake of his head. She cradled his mug, and tipped her head until she’d achieved eye contact. Watching the byplay fascinated Steve. Nat just waited patiently for Bucky to look at her, and when she seemed certain she had his attention, she took a sip from the mug and then placed it on the counter in front of him.

“It’s hot,” she said, almost conversationally. “So small sips, but it’s better when it’s hot and fresh from the stove.”

Another little nod, and he waited for Nat to claim her own mug before he gripped the handle with his organic hand.

“Cinnamon,” Bucky said, almost randomly. “You put cinnamon in the chocolate?”

Natasha hummed. “Sometimes. Tonight I thought yes. Bad dreams linger, and so do spices. But most of the time, spices aren’t in bad dreams. So you’ll know you’re awake.”

Steve blinked, and Nat gave him a quick smile.

“Oh,” was Bucky’s only response and he took a sip of his own.

The reaction seemed to be the one the rest were waiting for. “So,” Clint said idly. “Since we’re all up, what’s the game plan?”

“Not sure we have one yet.” Tony seemed willing to play along though he kept an eye on Bucky, he at least didn’t stare at him.

“Pretty sure the plan is for you and Nat to heal up,” Steve said, throwing his hat into the ring. Normality was important. Another of Sam’s favorite phrases, but one Steve already knew. Because in the dark hours of night at the tower or at the compound, when Nat sat them down with hot cocoa, she didn’t ask them to talk about their dreams and she never offered to share her own. Instead, they talked about everything else—training schedules, past missions, upcoming missions, or even the latest episode of whatever reality show Nat made them watch.

She really loved those ridiculous shows.

God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually watched one. “Did Giselle ever pick a guy?”

“Yes,” Nat said, then sighed. “But she picked the wrong one. Which anyone could have told her Jacques was a player. A week after the last rose, stories broke he’d cheated on her the whole time he was on the show.”

This was why he didn’t get her fascination. It was like a bad neighborhood drama where everyone knew everyone else’s business, but they let them make mistakes anyway. “Is it really cheating if they weren’t actually together to the end? I mean—she was dating like what twenty guys when it started?”

“Hey those twenty guys signed up to be there,” Clint said, dropping right into the conversation as if he’d been sitting with them at the compound watching the DVR’d episodes to catch up. “They wanted the chance at her, can’t say you want much of a chance if you have a sidepiece.”

“Sure,” Steve said, agreeing with the sentiment. “But that’s still twenty other guys, and they got what? A date over lunch or breakfast, sometimes dinner? Randomly drawn from a hat and then she eliminated a few? Hard to get to know someone in such a limited window.”

“But the limited opportunity should have made him work harder,” Tony interjected. “He didn’t have much time to impress her, if he had someone on the side then he definitely wasn’t thinking about her the way he should have.”

Steve supposed. But he couldn’t imagine signing up for a chance to romance a stranger opposite a lot of other guys. Hell, he could barely entertain a double date when Bucky did all the heavy lifting. One on one was better.

“She should have picked Miles,” Clint threw out there. “He was good people.”

“No he wasn’t,” Tony objected. “He was barely literate, and his idea of a good time was taking her to sporting events or watching sporting events on television. Women don’t consider that actual dates.”

“Oh ho. Like you’d know,” Clint snickered. “How many women did you used to sleep with in a week?”

“Seven for seven, sometimes twice on Sundays, but they were never dates,” Tony retorted. “Sleeping with women isn’t the same as dating them. Those women wanted to get laid, they didn’t give a damn about me.”

“Tony, Christine Everhart definitely gave a damn about you,” Nat murmured, in between sips of her hot cocoa. “She did a huge spread in Vanity Fair…and other places.”

With a smirk, Tony said, “And she hates me, so—thank you for making my point. As for Giselle, she would have been better off with Henry or Jason.”

“Why Henry?” Nat asked, almost puzzled even as Clint muttered an outraged, “Jason!?”

“Henry wasn’t so bad,” Steve said, agreeing with Tony. “He was steady. He asked her questions about her. Listened to her, too. Not sure about Jason.” That guy had been odd.

“Jason’s a creative type. He didn’t use words for his love language. He did things,” Tony said, with a shrug.

“Yeah, but he was always helping the other guys out,” Clint pointed out. “He got flowers for Jacques to give her, made the soufflé for Brian, found her scarf for Jimmy…”

“Exactly,” Tony said, snapping his fingers. “He didn’t tell her pretty lies or make shit up. He did things. But she never noticed, because she was too busy staring into Jacques stupid blue eyes and listening to his bastardized French accent.”

“It was really an awful accent,” Nat agreed with a shake of her head. “If he could even find France on a map, I’d be surprised.”

“That’s cause he’s from Paris,” Clint snickered. “Paris, Texas.”

Laughter rolled through all four of them. Steve shrugged, “I still think Henry wasn’t so bad. Tony’s right about that.”

“Friday, did you get that on tape?” The billionaire said, with a fist to his chest. “Tell me you got that on tape.”

Nat shook her head, still smiling.

“Recorded Boss.”

“Perfect,” Tony said, flashing Steve a grin. “I’m going to play that every time you want to argue with me.”

Steve chuckled. “Sure. Who’d you think Giselle should have picked, Nat?”

She made a face, as if thinking about it. The exaggerated emotion was just for show, though. Knowing Nat, she’d made up her mind week one. “None of them.”

“What?” Tony stared at her.

“Why none?” Steve frowned. She’d just agreed—well no, she’d agreed Jacques accent was terrible and that Giselle should never have picked him. Clint drained his hot cocoa, and just waited her out.

“Because it’s a farce,” Nat said with a little shrug. “Networks want ratings, they don’t care about people. Those guys are all there because they look good on TV but what makes people work isn’t always good television. Melodrama is good television. Scandal is good television. Backstabbing, and cheating—”

“Lying,” Tony supplied.

“Exactly. They’re all assets recruited by the network. The woman is their mark. Their job is to sell their cover story, and pull her into the honey trap. The better they are at their job…the more likely they are to achieve their mission objectives.” Nat shrugged again, the rested her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. “Some are decoys, obviously bad at it—but that’s perfect for the cover…”

“Because it makes the others look good by comparison, compensating for weaknesses in an operative's repertoire,” Bucky said slowly, lifting his head. “If you want to grease the wheels, you give the target a poor counter offer, it softens them up.”

“Exactly.” Nat nodded firmly. “Most of them are awful. The worst part—the worst part is the women on these shows have mission objectives of their own, but somewhere along the way one or all of them forget the job they were supposed to be doing.”

“They get hooked on their own cover stories,” Clint said slowly, as if parsing it out. “I see that...”

“So wait,” Tony interjected, staring at Nat. “You watch these shows because you’re studying their methods? Critiquing them?”

Nat laughed. “No. I watch them because they’re ridiculous, but it’s fun to guess what bad choices they are going to make.”

“And because she likes to mock their spycraft. Kind of like you and Banner watching _Star Wars_.”

“There’s nothing wrong with _Star Wars_ …it’s a perfect set of movies. Well okay the Millennium Falcon having a cockpit on the farside limits visibility, but it was a freighter not specifically made for combat. Just made Han Solo that much more of a bad ass that he could take her into combat. And…”

“Point. Made.’ Clint held up both hands. “Please do not subject me to another _why this shit shouldn’t work_ about those movies. I used to like them, too.”

“Should Giselle have picked Han Solo?” The unexpected comment from Bucky set them all off, and he gave them a bewildered look.

Nat patted his arm. “We’ll find copies for you to watch. Don’t worry, we’ll catch you up.”

Bucky shot a glance to Steve, eyebrows raised. Did he really want to be caught up? Steve just grinned. Yeah, he hadn’t understood the fascination either but he did like watching them with Nat and the others. That part was fun. “You’ll see,” he comforted Bucky.

A slow, if skeptical nod was his only response.

By the time they’d finished their hot chocolate, it was nearing four in the morning. Clint suggested everyone try to get some sleep, and he gave Nat a pointed look. Tony raked a hand through his hair and agreed, albeit reluctantly.

When Steve tried to usher Bucky back up the stairs, he seemed ready to refuse. Truthfully, Steve didn’t want to fight with him. The earlier adrenaline rush had crashed and while he only had some bruises, a couple were going to take longer than the others to heal. Especially the ones along the side of his ribs where Bucky got in a couple of solid jabs.

“C’mon,” Nat said as she slid off the stool and gave Bucky’s arm a little tug. “You’re dead on your feet.”

Bucky acquiesced all too easily, and let her shuffle him up the stairs. Clint watched the go expressionlessly, but Tony looked troubled.

“Either you follow or we will,” Clint warned Steve.

Shoving aside his own tiredness, Steve grabbed his shield and nodded. Despite Clint’s nudge, it surprised Steve when they didn’t follow. Then again, maybe Bucky had earned points with Clint over the last few days. Maybe the nightmare was an anomaly.

It wasn’t like Bucky didn’t have reasons to have bad dreams.

Back in their room, he eyed the destroyed door to the hall, and sighed. He’d pull it the rest of the way off in the morning and see if he could repair the damage to the wall. Setting his shield down outside the door, he followed the sound of Natasha’s voice into Bucky’s bedroom.

She perched on the end of the bed, but her attention was on the open closet door where Bucky stood. He’d left the area in a shambles. A pillow had been shredded, there were scattered items across the floor—including his journals—as if he’d thrown his backpack.

“Too many access points,” Bucky said.

“I know, the windows can be distressing. But we're on the side of a mountain, and you’re currently surrounded by some of the strongest people I know. You can sleep out here and it will be okay,” she told him gently. “But you don’t have to. If you want to sleep in there, then we need to clean it up.”

Nat caught Steve’s gaze and she patted the bed next to her, with a flick of a look at Bucky. Understanding creased through him, and Steve made his way over to join her. She wasn’t standing so she reduced the level of her threat. If she’d stood in the door of the closet, she’d probably be boxing him in. It also helped the relaxed atmosphere.

For his part, Bucky looked torn. He glanced from the destruction to Nat, and the indecision in his expression yanked at Steve.

“I don’t mind the mess,” Bucky said finally. “It’s—I don’t need a pillow.”

With a stretch, Nat snagged a pillow from the top of the bed and flung it into the closet. Bucky caught it almost on autopilot. “I wasn’t worried about whether you have a pillow or not. We have plenty. But it’s important to re-establish order after an incident.”

An incident. Like her triggering in Vienna. Clint had focused on the same things—hot cocoa, comforting conversation, and then sleep. Order.

God, Steve didn’t think he could be more grateful or more admiring of her, but she kept proving him wrong.

“It doesn’t matter…” Bucky dropped his gaze, head shaking. It was like all the life went out of him, and bleakness rolled off him in waves.

“It does matter,” Nat argued, her voice firm but even. “It matters because we aren’t…we aren’t tools that just slip and need to be put away.”

Bucky flinched.

“You’re not a tool, James.”

“But I’m not just James,” he told her, and the darkness in his eyes hit Steve like a bullet to his chest.

“You’re not just the soldier either.” Steve took up the argument. “You’re Bucky. You’re James. You’re the Soldier. You’re Barnes. You’re my friend. You’re _all_ of those.”

Shoulders slumping, Bucky dropped his gaze to the floor then knelt to start gathering the fluff that covered everything.

“Can I help? Nat asked.

A shrug was his only response.

She apparently took it to mean yes, because she slid off the bed and walked right into the closet with little fanfare. There wasn’t a lot of room in there, but Steve still wanted to make the offer.

“Can I do anything?”

Nat had slid around Bucky, kneeling to scoop more of the debris from the corner and carefully stacking his journals together without opening them. Buck stopped, and stared at Steve uncertainly.

Without looking up, Nat said, “Steve wants to know if he can help you clean up in here, too.” Well, yes but he hadn’t phrased it that specifically.

Bucky hesitated, then glanced around the space then to Natasha behind him before facing Steve again.

Huh. Bucky didn’t mind having Nat at his back, but he kept himself facing Steve. That explained why Nat sat next to him, maybe. The trust he had in her—Steve really wished he knew their history. Hell, he wished _they_ knew their history. Especially after how Buck described what he thought it was.

“Not a lot of room in here,” Bucky said carefully, and then slanted a look at him as if he expected rejection.

“It’s okay, I can just sit here and keep watch.” Exhaustion coursed through his veins. That earned him a little nod, and Bucky resumed cleaning, though Nat seemed to have moved much faster than he. She had most of the destroyed pillow sacked up in the remains of the pillowcase and had moved on to restacking his blankets and turning them into a pallet.

When she finished, Bucky said, “Natalia?”

“Yes, James?”

“I’m sorry if I—I’m sorry I tried to attack you. It…I didn’t want to hurt you.” He sounded so damn broken.

“I know you don’t,” she told him with far more confidence than even Steve felt. “You didn’t attack me. You startled me. But you’re good at that.” The note of teasing pulled a small, almost shy smile from his friend.

“Tony didn’t like it. He should have shot me.”

Fear bolted through Steve.

Instead of immediately denying it, however, Nat considered him. “If you’d actually tried to hurt me—then yes. Tony would have shot you. But you stopped, James. You landed on the floor, took two steps toward me and stopped when I told you to.”

Surprise skittered across his expression. Licking his chapped lips, Bucky glanced at Steve. Worry and wariness colliding in his gaze. Why would—oh—Steve had been chasing him. “Buck, I heard you cry out. I came to check on you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“But I hurt you.”

“No, I’m fine.” He dismissed the bruises, and Bucky’s face fell. Behind him, Nat glared at him and he could almost hear her whispering _idiot_ in his ear. Uncertain, he tried to fix it. “You got a good couple of shots in,” Steve said. “But it’s not like I didn’t hit you back.”

Dubious, Bucky nodded a little, then glanced at Nat, then back to Steve. He seemed stuck, and Steve wasn’t sure what to do. Since he’d gotten back, he hadn’t done this. He’d been… _normal_. What the hell…?

“Do you need to brush your teeth or wash your face?” Nat asked.

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I did earlier. I can in the morning.”

“All right,” she murmured, easing around him with the remains of the pillow in her arms. Before she could reach the door however, Bucky’s metal arm barred the way.

Steve rose to his feet, but a quick look from Nat had him hold. Muscles coiled, he judged the distance. It would take a second, maybe almost two to get there.

“Did you need me to do something else, James?” Nat kept her tone cordial, and her posture nonthreatening. Steve knew part of it was her training, she understood people. But Bucky had been a threat to her in the past, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his actions didn’t trigger her.

God, they so did not need both of them triggered at the same time.

Tony and Clint wouldn’t hesitate to take Bucky out of the equation.

“I—I didn’t hurt you, right?” Bucky stared at her intently.

“No,” she assured him. “You didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I did before.” The intensity in his gaze unnerved Steve and he wasn’t the recipient of it.

“Yes,” she answered him. “You did.” No sugar coating, no ease of his guilt, no acceptance, just facts.

“I helped you on the tape.”

The damn tape. For just a little while, Steve had managed to forget it or at least shove it out of his mind. It didn’t matter how many decades ago it happened, standing there, watching Nat go through that on a video all alone? He’d almost been grateful Bucky had been there, and the notion made him a little sick to his stomach.

“You did,” Nat said, a small smile gracing her lips. “I wished I’d remembered that part. But I did enjoy seeing Leonid hit the wall.”

“Me too,” Bucky answered, with another smile. “I wish I’d killed him.”

“They wouldn’t have liked it. They didn’t let me kill him either.”

It was so weird to watch the understanding flow between them, and it was like the most natural thing in the world. But Bucky hadn’t moved his arm or let Natasha leave the closet yet.

“Do you know…how he died?” The question came out almost wistful.

A puzzled look in her eyes, Natasha frowned. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “No,” she said finally. “I—I know I thought Alexei was dead. Yuri and Leonid, too. Most of the people on that tape are dead.”

Unease slid through Steve. She wasn’t lying, but she held back something.

“We’re not,” Bucky said, dropping his arm slowly. “Alexei isn’t.”

Nat nodded.

“Did Leonid sound like the man on the PA?”

Steve jerked. Bucky didn’t ask questions like that unless he knew the answer.

She swallowed, and lifted her shoulders a fraction. “I don’t remember what he sounded like.” Though her gaze didn’t dart away and she didn’t bite her lip. Steve didn’t think that was the truth either.

“I think I do,” Bucky admitted and Steve straightened. “After…when I was asleep. I dreamed about you. About that day. I remember what Leonid yelled after he hit you.” Tilting his head to the side, Bucky wasn’t looking at her. “Arrogant little bitch.” A grimace. “He screamed more when I broke his arm.” A flicker of a smile. “He didn’t make any noise after he hit the wall.”

“Well, he probably crunched.” Macabre as it was, even Steve cracked a smile at that.

“Yes,” Bucky said with a slow nod, agreeing. “He did.”

“Is that why you woke upset?”

Bucky shook his head. “In my dream, I took you from the room and to the infirmary. It was…a long way from the training rooms. Too far. Very impractical. You were bleeding. I could smell it.” He paused, as if trying to piece it together. “The doctor didn’t want to treat you. I don’t know why. When he refused the second time, I broke his neck.”

It was so matter-of-fact.

“The second doctor said he’d take care of you.” He wasn’t looking at Nat, instead he stared at his hands. “I think he said he would. Maybe he didn’t say anything, he just started helping you.”

Nat waited him out, holding the shredded pillow to her chest and Steve leaned forward, listening for even the slightest changes in Bucky’s tone.

“The others came then. They were not happy I broke their toy. They argued. I didn’t care about the argument. I stayed between you and the ones who hurt you.” He sounded so puzzled. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Nat asked when he didn’t elaborate.

“They made me go back to the chair.”

“Because you helped me?” Slow moving horror escaped in those syllables.

“No,” Bucky said, but he smiled. “I broke Ivan’s arm.”

Her eyes grew round. Shock stamped across her features before she could smooth it away.

“He wanted to drag you off the table, make you finish the tests. I would not allow him to interfere in the maintenance of the Widow. I broke his arm.” Pride filled his expression. “That was my mission.” Real delight this time. “I was there for your tests. Because you were going to be the Widow. I would be…” and then it faded away. “I was supposed to do something…but your security was part of it. You were broken, and could not defend yourself. So I intervened—it fit the mission parameters.”

“And they sent you to the chair because you broke protocol and assaulted a handler.” It wasn’t a question.

A tiny shrug. “Yes.” But underneath it, Steve heard the unspoken _worth it_. Not for the first time, Steve found himself jealous of Bucky. He’d actually gotten to hurt the bastards.

“Thank you, James.” Nat laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you for helping me.”

He nodded.

“Now, I’m going to go take care of this. You’re going to get some sleep. No more bad dreams, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

And he didn’t stop her from leaving the closet this time.

But then… “Natalia?”

“Yes?” Facing Steve, she didn’t look back at Bucky. Her expression was calm, but there were shadows in her eyes. She’d already been tired, and rehashing all of this probably didn’t help.

“Can you stay in the suite tonight? Sleep with Steve if you have to?”

Shock rippled through him, but Nat almost smirked. “Why do you want me to sleep with Steve?”

Not quite a grumble, but Bucky said, “I don’t want you to sleep with him. I just…I just don’t want you far away. It’s—the other wing is too far.”

“If something happened,” Nat murmured, raising her eyebrows at Steve and he stared at her. What did she want him to say? They’d slept next to each other before, and she’d slept on him in Venice, but—they’d never consciously just shared a bed to do anything other than sleep.

At least he hadn’t.

“Yes,” Bucky said. “If you’re here. I can hear you if something happens. I can…I can help.”

Agony tore through Steve at the worry drenching those words. “Why don’t we let Nat take my room,” Steve said slowly. “And I’ll sleep in here or I can take the sofa. Since the door’s busted out there.”

Nat shifted then, turning so she could see both of them. Bucky mulled that over, and then nodded.

“Will you stay Natalia?”

She sighed, her unspoken argument loud in her eyes. Steve didn’t want to push this, but…now that Bucky had brought it up, Steve would sleep a lot better if she were closer.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I need to let Tony and Clint know or they’re going to worry.”

Because now she would be in the other wing away from them—with Bucky.

“I’ll do it,” Steve offered as he stood. “I can grab you something from your room if you need it.”

She handed him the destroyed pillow. “No, I’m fine. Need anything from in there before I go pass out?”

“Nope. I’m good.” He wasn’t sure he could sleep after all this anyway.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she gave his arm a squeeze. “Good night Steve.”

“Night, Nat.”

Then she glanced at Bucky who stood in the center of the closet, just staring at her, “Good night, James.”

“Good night, Natalia.”

Then she left them alone. Neither of them moved until the door to Steve’s bedroom closed.

“Sorry Stevie.”

“I know Buck, and I want her safe, too. I’m going to go let the others know…you okay here?”

“I’ll keep watch until you’re back.”

Steve nodded, and made his way out slowly. The tape Nat had been watching triggered Bucky. He dreamed—or remembered in his dreams—another piece of the broken past.

It was progress, right?

“Captain Rogers?” Friday inquired quietly as he descended the steps.

“Yes?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of notifying Mr. Stark and Agent Barton of the arrangements. Agent Barton doesn’t wish you to leave them alone at least until Sergeant Barnes has had time to decompress.”

And Tony probably had a few choice words—he killed the uncharitable thought. If or when Tony had those thoughts and shared them, Steve could respond. Until then, he needed to not assume the worst.

“All right, thanks Friday.”

Back in the suite, he found Bucky waiting in the center of the sitting room for him. Seemingly satisfied with his return, Bucky retreated to his room and a minute later the closet door closed.

Slumping onto the sofa, Steve flung an arm over his eyes. He didn’t expect to sleep, but it wasn’t until he jerked awake from his dreams to find the sun filtering through the sitting room that he even realized he had.

Head in his hands, he tried to shake the images from his dreams. All the ways the confrontation on the stairs could have gone differently.

Dead Natasha.

Dead Bucky.

Both of them dead.

Then his dreams had changed to the train. He’d caught Bucky, prevented him from falling into Hydra’s hands. It had been a perfect moment.

Until he realized Nat wasn’t with them anymore. She never left Russia.

She died in the training room with Leonid beating her to death.

The dream changed, and Steve fell off the train. He was the one who threw Leonid across the room. He and Nat were together…

But they didn’t escape to the west. When Nat ran, Steve shot her.

Head pounding, he tried to rub the images away from his eyes. He’d damn near lost Nat in saving Bucky. She could have been hurt like Rhodey or worse during that fight and he couldn’t stop and he hadn’t.

And now the thought haunted him… what if he could only save one of them?

Worse—what if he really couldn’t save them at all.

 


	34. And if we come to a decision you don't like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has words for the guys, and for Nat. Someone has to hold them all together.

Chapter Thirty-Four

_And if we come to a decision you don't like?_

Clint

 

 

“You need anything?” He asked, lingering in the doorway to the study. They’d all slept a little later that morning, being up part of the night would do that. When he’d finally dragged himself out of bed, he’d found Nat, Rogers, and Barnes. Nat, typically, pushed herself with stretches, weights, and more. The dark bruising on her legs and arms had faded. He would imagine so had most of the ones on her torso. Physically, she performed well.

Mentally?

He hadn’t missed the way she kept a careful watch on Rogers and Barnes or how those two were tip toeing around each other. The little break with reality the night before had been a necessary if unexpected sucker punch. Better to have it here, than in the field. Barnes wasn’t healed, by any stretch, and they exposed him to a high stress mission and likely would again.

That little nugget strained Clint less than it did Steve. Nat thrived on a mission, it allowed her to focus on the task in front of her instead of all the steps behind her. Compartmentalizing was what she did. Maybe they should have all worked harder to recondition that part of her back when it had been he, Coulson, and SHIELD. As it was, Nat would likely not have a normal life. Her psychological makeup wouldn’t allow for it.

Hence her current task of sorting through her files, alone. The fact she’d basically told the guys they weren’t invited had set off a chain reaction of angst, anger, and if they weren’t grown men, Clint would label it pouting.

“Just some time to review these tapes. I can read the files on the quinjet en route, but all of this…” She motioned to them. Then paused. With two fingers she picked up the disc labeled Black Widow Debrief. “You were there for the whole of the debriefing, right? Even when they wouldn’t let you in the room?”

“Yes,” he answered, with no hesitation. Fury had been torn between tossing him out on his ass and tossing him out on his ass when he’d latched onto a third option. _The Black Widow is your problem. You will be responsible for everything she does, so…get comfortable Barton. Where she goes, you go. What she says, you listen to. What she does, you take the heat for, got it?_

“Think you’re up for reviewing this and seeing if you missed anything?” She extended it to him. Accepting the disc, he studied her. Considering what she’d reviewed the day before, and then faced with Barnes the night before—why did she treat the disc like a stick of dynamite?

“I absolutely can,” he assured her, then brushed his knuckles against her cheek. It was cold. Now, she’d showered after her workout, actually taken the time to flatten her hair out after she dried it, and if he wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t—she’d put on cosmetics. The clothes were comfortable, but covered her from her neck with its high collar top under the sweatshirt to her fuzzy socked toes.

Armor.

She’d armored up to deal with everyone.

“But?” She arched an eyebrow, waiting. Yes, he was not the only one who could read body language.

“Two things, actually,” he decided. “It’s Saturday, the kids will be up in two hours give or take.” If his mental time change math was right. “Call them today. Lila misses you and has asked about you the last three times I called. They need to hear from you.” And Nat needed to hear from Lila. Coop could make her laugh, Nate was too young other than to be fun to cuddle for her, but Lila? Lila reached out to the little girl inside of Nat who’d never been allowed the grace to have a friend. She reached Nat just by existing.

“Fine,” Nat said with a sigh, then flicked a glance at the clock. With more confidence, she said, “I can do that.”

“And two, tell me why this one rattles you.”

“You know why,” she told him, her eyes a little flatter as the warmth drained out of them.

“Pretty sure I do, yeah. But I still want you to say it.” If she compartmentalized too much, she could shove things aside and never confront them. Nat was no coward, but emotions—particularly overwhelming ones—threatened the programming and she reacted accordingly. The only way to keep it from sinking its hooks too deeply within her was to not allow it a fertile ground. Naming what worried her—because so little really _scared_ her—neutered its influence.

She bit her lip as she considered him. The armor helped her to rein in her emotions, but she was still giving away a lot in her micro expressions. The current situation with Stark, Rogers, and Barnes had her off center, and seemed to be keeping her there. She needed her head back in the game and not trapped in the labyrinth of wild feelings the guys were tripping her up in.

So that was on him.

“SHIELD was supposed to be safe,” she admitted with a twist of her lips. “You… made me promises. You made it sound like a haven. And it was, you kept those promises to me.”

“I wish that were one hundred percent, true,” he told her. SHIELD let them both down.

“Well, it was only twelve percent not.” A tease. A deflection. Soothe him. Send him on his way.

Yeah, she knew better than to play that with him. Or she did most of the time. “Okay, so SHIELD was supposed to be safe.” He pointed her back to the path, and hid a smile at the crinkle in her nose. This was an old game for them. She pretended to distract him, he pretended to take the bait, and then he would nudge her back and she would affect irritation.

Familiarity made for comfort, he supposed.

“But it wasn’t safe. I’m very well aware of how not safe it was. I don’t—I don’t want to be reminded I was a fool.”

Clint grimaced. “Nat, do you regret believing me?” Because if she did, yeah that would hurt and he’d never blame her for it. He’d believed what he offered her; he still believed it. She was safer with him—with what SHIELD was supposed to be. In the end though, they’d used her much the same way as her old masters. Only, he hoped a little kinder. But it was only a little hope.

“I don’t regret you, Clint.” She bypassed all the other obstacles to go to the one that mattered. “I don’t regret _trusting_ you.”

“But you regret SHIELD?”

Her lack of automatic denial didn’t ease his conscience or discomfort. Her gaze went distant as she audited her feelings on the subject internally. With a long sigh, she held up her hand and he took it without hesitation. Threading his fingers with her, he slid onto the sofa next to her.

“I regret not seeing the brokenness inside of SHIELD. I _failed_ to see it because I didn’t want to.” Careful phrasing, and she clenched his fingers a little tighter. “I didn’t question when I should have…”

Fury.

“…I didn’t push back when I should…”

Coulson.

“…even when you insisted I should look at all angles of a mission, not just whether I could do it, but whether I should…”

Him.

“…I didn’t want to see any of it as using me as a weapon. I wanted to see it as being valued as a person. But Stark changed that…that mission. Not you,” she assured him. “When you trusted me with Laura and the kids…I know you didn’t see a weapon.”

Pain clawed at his throat, but he ignored it and focused on her. She needed a rock amidst all the instability and volatility surrounding her. “I know.”

A little smile. “And by Stark I mean that mission.”

“Tell me?” She’d been so upset about it after the fact, and she’d rarely ventured back to the subject after. He’d never seen a mission upset her before. Not like that. And she _never_ said she disliked them.

“I feel stupid about it.” A little deflection, so he didn’t reassure her. She didn’t need it. “But I told you Fury outted me the day after I answered Stark’s question with the truth?”

He nodded.

“It was _how_ he outted me.”

What the hell had Fury done? Clint schooled away his frown, and waited.

“Tony…Tony went on a bender at his party. He was—not as drunk as I think he pretended. Ended up in a rock’em, sock’em robot fight with Rhodey.” The reference amused even if the event it hadn’t. “Then after they damn near destroyed his mansion, and knocked each other out. Rhodes made it to his feet first, then took off with the suit right back to the military and government Tony hadn’t wanted to give his equipment to.”

Twisting, she curled her legs under her and tucked her head to his shoulder. Accommodating her, Clint slid an arm around her. Some stories were easier to come at sideways, especially if they exposed a weakness or a flaw, which was probably what Nat thought this did.

“Tony woke up a few minutes later, and then he took off. The house was a wreck, most of the party fled, but…”

“Not you.”

“No, I was tasked as his shadow. I stuck close. At least until he flew off.”

“No tracker?”

A little shrug.

“Nat.”

“Fine, I slipped a tracker on him before the party.”

“The watch.”

“Yeah. So, I contacted Fury, gave him an edited report and it didn’t matter. He’d dropped a couple of agents into the party so he already knew I’d messed things up.”

“You were tasked to shadow him, not be his mommy.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You _knew_ where he was and got eyes on him as soon as possible.” No doubt in his mind.

“The director wasn’t quite so understanding. Anyway, I got changed—tact suit incase he was in trouble—then met Fury and a handful of agents at a donut shop in LA.” A hint of a smile. “Sir…I’m going to have to ask you to exit the donut was how Nick said hello to him while I secured the perimeter. We’d already removed the staff from the shop.”

Exit the donut. Clint’s lips twitched. That was funny.

“Once he had Stark inside, he got him some coffee and more donuts to sober him up. Then let me know when I was to join them.”

“He ambushed Stark with your presence.”

A nod.

Bastard.

Another hesitation.

“Then he puts his arm around me, like he’s showcasing his territory and dominance. Look here Stark, this is mine. I fooled you with my toy.” The dead notes in her voice stabbed at him.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that then?” Cause he’d have put an arrow in Fury’s ass.

“Because you would have gotten mad,” she told him. “Just like you are now. Clint—it’s the role I’ve always played. Until then, I hadn’t seen I was still playing it. My bad.”

On the heels of the Winter Soldier incident, Fury threw her right back to the Red Room. Clint pinched the bridge of his nose to anchor himself and get his temper under control. “So…if you review this…?”

“I think I’ll see all the things I missed before. I don’t want to have any more regrets. I remember those debriefings. I remember how it felt to be scraped away inside and poured out to be examined. I believed it was worth it, that I was doing something worth all that pain.” And she didn't want to be proven wrong.

She’d never called it pain before.

“I’ll watch it, Nat,” he promised her, and then squeezed her closer and hugged her. “I’ll take care of it.”

“If you find something…”

“If I find something you need to know, I won’t keep it from you.”

A little nod, and then she returned his fierce hug. “Sorry I keep making problems for you.”

He laughed. “Not the problems I worry about.”

“Fine,” she mumbled. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I didn’t want you to shoot Fury. I thought…I thought he’d take you away.”

And that shut him the hell up. Of course she had. The moment she’d made a link, no matter how tangentially, between SHIELD operations and the Red Room, her sense of security would have slipped.

“No one is taking me anywhere,” he promised. “You’d come and get me.”

“Yes, I would.” Then a smirk filled her voice. “I tricked a god for you.”

“Yes you did.” He grinned. “And then you kicked my ass.”

“It wasn’t as fun as it could have been.” The dry humor in her voice made him laugh.

“Next time?” He teased. A hard poke at his side and he winced. “Watch it, I’m still wounded.”

She straightened immediately, eyes clearing as she stared at him. “Do I need to check your stitches?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “You can torture me later.”

A pout, and he flicked her nose. “Go watch your hell tapes. I’ll go watch the bullshit one.” Then releasing her he stood. “One hour and forty-five minutes.”

Nat rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. “I’ll call them. I promise…we’re leaving tonight or first thing tomorrow. I can’t put the rest off anymore. So I will call them.”

With that, he carried the disc over to the pocket doors, and let himself out. After closing them behind him, he pivoted to meet Tony’s gaze.

“I wasn’t listening.”

“Much,” Clint corrected him. He’d caught the sound of his footsteps approaching the door, then retreating.

“Much…I heard my name and what she said about Fury,” Tony told him flatly. “Then I backed the hell off.”

With a jerk of his head, Clint invited Tony to follow him. They returned to the kitchen. Kitchens were the center of any home. It was where families prepared food, broke bread, and sometimes caught up from their days. At the farm, the kitchen was the warmest room in the house with something always baking in the oven or sitting inviting on the counter. It reminded him he was home and kept him grounded.

Kitchens and the Avengers were like that, too. The one place they all set aside weapons, and armor and spent a little time as humans. They needed their humanity. Pocketing the disc Nat had given him, he went straight for the coffee.

“For what it’s worth, I’m never going to be Fury’s biggest fan,” Tony offered.

“It’s fine, Stark. I know who Fury was…is.” Clint shook his head. “That’s not what I want to talk about.”

Mostly because they had too much on their plates for him to go and hunt down the ex-director for a little one on one smack around. Besides, Fury would probably tell him he’d done it on purpose or some such bullshit because Nat was getting too close and it was easier to back her away from Stark by sinking a depth charge than letting Stark compromise her further.

Maybe he should ask the director how that plan was working out for him…

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want to talk to me about?” The billionaire poured himself some coffee and offered a mug to Clint.

“I want to have a sit down with you, Rogers, and Barnes.” No preamble, no beating around the bush. Nat was right about the ticking clock. They were counting down the hours now before she would press forward with the job she’d saddled herself with, and they needed to be ready to move with her.

His damn shoulder slowed him down, but Clint wasn’t about to be left behind. After pouring a second mug and passing it to Clint, Tony looked thoughtful and didn’t respond with a quip or sarcastic remark. At least the guy looked like he’d gotten some sleep. The Barnes episode had made Clint’s blood run cold and he’d been less than thrilled when Friday relayed the conversation taking place in Barnes’ room. But Nat hadn’t looked distressed when she chose to stay, so Clint let it go. Tony hadn’t said a word before he disappeared back into his own suite.

No, today—the four of them all needed to talk. They needed some rules laid out, and a game plan solidly in mind. Nat would be walking right into the hellmouth, the last thing they needed was infighting to distract them from protecting her or her letting them protect her.

“I see your point,” Tony said finally after he completed whatever mental gymnastics he needed to arrive at his agreement. “Friday where are Rogers and Barnes?”

“They are in their suite, Boss.”

“You want to do this now?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“No time like the present.” Clint saluted with the coffee mug. Nat would be busy for a while, and she didn’t want an audience after their reactions the day before. As much as he wanted to talk her out of walking down into that hellish hole, he wouldn’t. She’d lost far too much choice in her life.

Tony nodded. “Let them know we’re coming up.”

Ten minutes later, they all sat around the sitting room of Rogers’ suite. The remains of the door had been stacked in a corner, and all the debris cleaned up. Rogers had even smoothed down the jagged edge of the doorframe. Tony told him to leave it as it was, it could be repaired later.

Barnes sat farther away from all of them, shoulders hunched, hands clasped, and elbows on his knees. It was as though he’d retreated to his arrival at the chalet rather than the more direct attitude he’d taken in Venice and since returning. The episode the night before had lost him some desperately needed ground.

For the most part, Steve just looked weary. Having an unstable best friend could do that to a guy. Clint hadn’t slept well the first year after he’d pulled Tasha in. And it took another year before he could relax when he didn’t have her in his line of sight. Even going home for time with the family while she remained at base led to him worrying the whole time—what if she slipped and he wasn’t there to catch her?

Yeah, he felt for Steve.

Tony had girded himself for the _meeting_ , and he wore his could-care-less face and overplayed his hand to show how at ease he was. Of course, sitting in the chair nearest the door, fiddling with his watch and carefully refraining from making any kind of direct eye contact with Barnes sabotaged his efforts.

None of these guys were spies. The closest was Barnes and he lacked any kind of subtlety at the moment. He was too raw.

“Not going to beat around the bush,” Clint said, eyeing each man in turn. “In a few hours, Nat’s going to head to Budapest.” He held up a hand before they all started talking at once. “She’s not hiding it, but she isn’t going to ask permission either. We need to be ready to move with her.”

“She shouldn’t go,” Barnes said, meeting Clint’s gaze for the first time he entered the room. “They want her to find them.”

“Yeah, that would be my guess, too.” Steve and Tony both jolted at his agreement, and he shook his head. “This is a breadcrumb trail, breadcrumbs designed to entice her and lure her in. I know she knows it, I know she sees it, and I know she can’t not act on it no matter what trap is waiting at the other end.”

“She said the best trap for her would be one nested within another, then another like Russian dolls,” Tony said, his expression tight.

“Precisely,” Clint murmured, then took another long drink of the coffee to finish it off before setting the mug aside. “Nat told us she got the lead on London from the bounty hunters who came after her. She thought they were from Ross, some were, but not all of them.”

“Wait a minute, she said she was looking for missing women and that’s what…” Steve frowned. “But you’re right, she mentioned the bounty hunters in Vienna.”

Tony groaned. “And she played us…distracted with a slightly different story.” He shook his head at Steve, but at least he didn’t sound condescending.

“We’re getting too close,” Barnes said quietly. “I don’t think she told Steve that to distract him from what she wants to do…”

“…but from what others want to do to her.” Steve finished for him. The former assassin nodded. “Because she knows I’m worried.”

“She knows we’re all worried, Cap. We’re not exactly trying too hide it. Even Barnes over there couldn’t stand the idea of her being out of reach, which is why she slept here last night.” No, Clint hadn’t missed that.

Barnes hung his head. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“Give me a break Manchurian Candidate, you didn’t make it worse. Barton’s pointing out we’re closing ranks on her and she knows it. She knows we’re going to try and get between her and whatever this trap is she plans to trigger.” Tony grimaced. “Human experimentation and trafficking, ties to Red Room fuckery, and at least two people from her past we know are involved.”

“You think Tatiana is a part of it,” Barnes’ reticence evaporated as he pinned a calculating look on Tony. Barnes might be struggling with the humanity of it all, but Clint would bet his last donut the Soldier understood this battleground a whole lot better than he’d let on.

But then Nat distracted him, too—fuck. Every time he didn’t think she could impress him more, she proved him wrong. The Soldier all but offered himself up to her for control, and she’d declined, but set him a task guaranteed to occupy him and perhaps keep his knowing gaze off her.

She really was the smartest person in the room.

“I don’t have enough evidence to convict, but my gut says she didn’t accidentally sell out Nat to Alexei. I know Nat wants to trust her, which is weird—except for how eerily like Nat she is.” Tony leaned forward, no longer retreating from engagement with the two super soldiers in the room.

Nat was right about him, too. He was smart. Pulled apart the threads until he found what he needed to know.

“Tatiana is nothing like Natalia,” Barnes argued.

“Stop,” Steve said before Clint could. “We’re not going to debate this. We’re all on Nat’s side. Period.” Then he looked at Clint. “What do you want us to do?”

“To pack up the personal feelings, now.” The minute he said the words, he could almost hear their objections. “Before you argue, _think_. You’re all deeply invested in her, you all _want_ things from her.”

He paused for a moment to let that settle in. Clint wasn’t blind, these three were sinking toward her in gradually decaying orbits and sooner or later a collision would send up debris flying everywhere and Nat would be at the epicenter.

“You’re distractions. For _her._ ” As much as he loathed the Red Room, he understood their sick methodology. “Her training, everything that formed her growing up, tells her to not get involved, to not form connections, and to not be attached.” He had their full attention, and the only one not surprised was Barnes. But then, he’d lived in a cage similar to hers and Clint highly doubted Hydra allowed the asset to get connected.

And yet he and Nat both felt like they knew each other on some level, it was evident in every interaction. Clint’s gut knotted. Hydra and the Red Room would never allow their assets something so banal as a friendship much less a relationship, yet every instinct he possessed said they’d had one. Maybe they’d hidden it.

Whatever they’d done, they’d been found out.

Yeah, he was already pissed—he didn’t dare follow the thought to its logical conclusion.

“I started this ball rolling,” Clint said, owning it. “I pulled her into SHIELD, I forced my friendship on her.” Yeah, it was an ugly way to phrase it, but it was the truth. “Tony you said giving her the choice of join at arrowpoint wasn’t really a choice…and you weren’t wrong, but you also weren’t right.”

He’d only ever told Laura all of that particular conversation. Even during his debrief with Coulson and Fury, he’d compartmentalized sections of it.

“I would never have killed her that night.” And only Laura knew that. He’d never even told Nat.

Tony frowned, and Barnes eyed Clint with something distinctly unfriendly. Had he just put it together that Clint had the kill order for Nat? Steve flicked a look to Barnes, but he didn’t tense.

“My orders were specific, track down and eliminate the Black Widow. She was a rogue agent, an assassin, and she’d been taking out SHIELD assets as well as those from foreign services. As long as she’d kept her focus overseas…I doubt anyone would have done anything. But she’d taken jobs that put her in direct contact with SHIELD agents, and SHIELD resources. She eliminated quite a few.”

“Kurt MacGruder,” Tony supplied because of course Tony had done research.

“Among others.”

His follow-up, however, was far less expected. “Alexander Pierce took an interest in her.”

Steve flinched and Barnes sat forward. “What?” The dual statements crashing into each other would have been funny save for the subject matter.

“MacGruder was assassinated while at the American Embassy in Sao Paulo in the late eighties. It was classified as one of a series of assassinations that took place between May and June of 1988, including…Friday help me out here, the names?”

“Three notable Russian defectors, all names redacted, Alfonso Ramos, a potential presidential nominee, Marta Jimenez, am American activist. At the time of his death, MacGruder was involved in a cooperative work with Stark Industries. Following his death, MacGruder’s service was listed as notable for giving his life in the service of SHIELD. MacGruder’s death, however, occurred during an attack on the American embassy in Sao Paulo, fourteen dead. His body was later discovered, but not with those participating in a meeting.”

Clint knew about the fact she’d assassinated him in the embassy, she’d admitted to being there at the time. But MacGruder was before his time with SHIELD and no one asked for a follow up, he didn’t know the other names.

“Friday also found out that in addition to MacGruder, fourteen other people died in the embassy that night, he was the only one not in the room with them that also died. All the names were redacted and Brazilian intelligence only called them foreign collateral. SHIELD files had been sanitized of all details. It took Friday cross-referencing with several agencies to put together that many details in the first place.” Tony clasped his hands together. “The most interesting part of it all was that file on Sao Paulo was updated several times in the years between the incident and Nat’s recruitment. Director Carter…Aunt Peggy handled all but the last update.”

Clint leaned his head back. Carter had been in semi-retirement when he recruited Nat. Fury had taken over most of the day to day operations with Carter acting as an advisor. So that last update… “Alexander Pierce.”

Barnes clenched his metal fist so hard, the clink echoed in the room.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “We haven’t been able to jar any other pieces of the story—but we have that.”

“Why were you looking into Sao Paulo?” Steve asked, and while Clint didn’t want to derail the briefing—a glance at the clock said they had about an hour before Nat called Lila and he wanted to be downstairs to check on her in and around that—he also wanted to know.

Then, of course Tony had. God. “Loki,” Clint ground out between his teeth.

Tony nodded once. “It was what he said to her when she interrogated him. About Drakov’s daughter, Sao Paulo and the hospital fire…could she really wash away that much blood.”

“And you couldn’t leave it alone,” Clint murmured, and it wasn’t a question. “Fine, Nat’s past is definitely dark. That really shouldn’t be news to anyone here.”

“Some of the specifics were,” Tony argued, but it lacked any heat. “After Drakov’s daughter, I’m glad we couldn’t figure out the hospital fire.”

Clint was glad, too. It was one of the darkest moments she’d ever shared with him. And he would _never_ repeat it aloud.

“I…” Steve hesitated, then said. “No, I don’t want to know.”

Barnes said nothing, his gaze distant.

“Back to why we’re here,” Clint pulled them to the present. “If you’re in, you’re in. We aren’t going to try and talk her out of anything. What we are going to do is be a part of the solution.” Focusing on Barnes, he said, “Can you handle it or do you need to sit this out? We can’t be worrying about you snapping mid-op.”

Steve winced, but Clint ignored him. Barnes was the least stable member of their group. They were already dancing on thin ice by delving into Nat’s past and there was no way they weren’t going to slip if they stayed on course. Clint had to be ready to catch her, and if he had to keep an eye on Barnes he might miss something.

“If Natalia goes, I will go with her.” Jaw set, Barnes met Clint’s gaze unflinchingly.

“I don’t doubt your intentions.” Amazingly enough, he didn’t. “But if you walking in there with her leads to you being triggered—she is safer with you being far away.”

“Do you need to see my scans?” Barnes straightened. “The reports done on the treatments they gave me.”

“I take it you read them?” He knew Nat had, she hadn’t seemed concerned on that issue.

“I did,” Steve offered, with a questioning look at Barnes. When the former assassin nodded his consent, Steve continued, “The gist of it is they introduced something into his cerebral cortex, a counter programming. The words shouldn’t work anymore, but his mind still needs to heal. Buck’s got a version of the serum, and Shuri was adamant his mind would heal now that no one was wiping him over and over.”

“They had to wipe him because his mind kept rejecting the programming?” Tony smoothed a hand over his goatee.

“More or less,” Steve answered. “Apparently the serum can heal the brain, and what they did—twisted something in the cerebral cortex, scarred it. But the serum can undue the damage. They repeated it so often—or Shuri believed based on the amount of scarring…” Steve looked a little green. “Because he healed in the intervening time. His mind would begin to reset as the neural pathways reestablished.”

“So you’re going to get all your memories back,” Tony murmured as he studied Barnes. “Or do you have them already and you’re playing dumb?”

“I am remembering some things,” Barnes admitted. “It’s slow. Seems better after I sleep and Shuri said I needed real sleep to keep healing.”

And they hadn’t had a lot of it the last few days.

“That may be another reason to stay out of this,” Clint offered. “You’re not fully healed.”

“Are you going?” Barnes asked him blandly. “You can barely lift your shoulder, your aim will be off, and you will hamper the mission. But you’re going.”

“Because I’m her partner, and I’m not letting her go alone.”

Barnes frowned, then looked at Tony. “You can build something…put it in my arm. Something that can incapacitate me?”

“Buck!”

But Steve’s best friend ignored his objection and focused on Tony. “A kill switch if need be.”

“I can,” Tony said slowly. “You sure you want to give me that kind of power?”

“You don’t want to kill me anymore,” Barnes said with a hell of a lot more confidence than Clint had. “If you did—you wouldn’t have let Natalia stop you last night. You don’t like me. But you don’t want to kill me. You will protect Natalia though. Or you can give the switch to him.” He nodded to Clint.

“Buck, this is insane…”

“No, Steve. It’s trust. The mission is to protect Natalia. I cannot do my mission if I am prevented from going. Or I must incapacitate all of you in order to be there. None of that serves the mission.”

God, he sounded like Nat.

“So create a way to eliminate me as a threat if she is in danger, and we can work on the mission together.”

For his part, Tony didn’t answer immediately. He merely stared at Barnes, maybe working out what he wanted to do or would be willing. Finally, he asked, “What is…Natasha to you?”

“I want her to live long enough for me to answer that question.” Barnes said. “Being with her settles me. Being around her brings me peace. I _have_ to keep her safe.”

“Have to like it’s actually a mission you’re programmed with?” Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Something the Soldier has to do?”

Clint didn’t hold his breath, but he did worry at that piece of information like a hangnail. “The Soldier wanted Nat to have his mission readiness,” he said aloud. Both Steve and Tony nodded, she’d shared that with them. Good. “The Soldier went out of his way to do that…that wasn’t you?”

“It was, and it wasn’t.” Barnes said slowly. “I…remember some of what it is to be him. But he’s not always me. I think he sees the Widow as a handler. There are worse handlers to have. Natalia…she’s kind. I care about her. The Soldier does, too.” The last sounded a little more uncertain than the first, but Tony just shook his head.

“Well then, that means you’d die for her.” Which seemed to settle some internal debate.

Barnes just nodded. “We tried to prevent injury to her at Azzano, Steve and I both.”

“You kept her alive, Bourne. Let’s hope you can do it again. I’ll figure something out for your arm. A switch to knock you out and hopefully not kill you. No promises.” Flip and light as his tone might be, Tony’s eyes remained grave.

“I don’t need promises. If you have to choose between Natalia and I, choose her.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.” Tony pushed upward and looked at Clint. “Are we done with this summit? If we’re heading to Budapest tonight, I better get to work on a breaker switch for him and go over everyone’s gear.”

“You going to be okay working with them Stark?” Clint eyed him. “I mean—the full team effect. We’re there, we work together, we keep each other alive, and we keep her alive.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” It wasn’t an answer but probably the only one he was going to get. At his nod, Tony clapped his hands together. “Be lively Barnes, I’ll call you when I’m ready. Steve, I’m updating your gauntlets so you can call the shield to you. I doubt you have the old ones.”

“No,” Steve admitted. “I don’t. Can I help?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Someone make sure Red eats.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Clint said before the others could offer. “Give her space today.”

“I wish she wasn’t watching those things alone,” Steve admitted.

“None of us want her watching them Cap, but she needs to do this so we have to let her. That’s how this works, right Barton?” Tony was already heading to the door and he didn’t wait for his answer.

“Right.”

With that, Clint rose but Barnes held out a hand. Pausing, Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Sao Paulo?” Barnes said slowly, and Steve frowned.

“What about it?” Clint asked.

“I was there.”

Maintaining an even tone, Clint studied him. “You remember that?”

“Not—I remember the names. The other names. In the embassy.” He glanced at Steve. “They’re in my journals.”

Great. “Nat doesn’t remember you there.”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But when Stark described Sao Paulo and Friday said there were more deaths in the embassy the same day…the list of names in the book came up. And somehow…I think Natalia was there and I knew.”

But she didn’t. Clint had a headache and the clock on the wall told him he needed to get downstairs before Nat caught on to what they were doing. “Then put a pin in it for now. We’ll tear this apart after.”

“What if he remembers more?” Steve had stood as well, and he’d folded his arms. For the first time, Clint actually felt sorry for Cap. He was in a hell of a position at the moment. They couldn’t afford to focus on it too much, but he felt for the guy.

“Tell Steve or tell me.” Clint said after a moment.

“Not Natalia?” Dislike inhabited the question.

“Do you think telling her will help her?” Because Clint had meant it when he said sometimes secrets prevented trauma. She had enough on her plate.

“I don’t know,” Barnes admitted.

“When you know, Buck,” Steve answered. “Then you can decide to tell her. I don’t want to lie to her either.”

A nod.

“You got this, Cap?” Clint glanced at him, and the man in question nodded. Leaving them, he headed down the stairs. There was no sign of Stark, but he’d probably gone to work on exactly what he’d said. Tony thrived when he was in his element, and right now, he likely needed it to settle the crazy they were all unpacking.

“Ms. Romanoff is outside, Agent Barton.” Friday supplied when he glanced in the study. The screen had paused on a clip of Natasha dancing. She looked so heartbreakingly young even with the crappy quality of the video.

“Thanks Friday.” He almost asked about her mental state, but Nat hated when the AI spied on her, so he wouldn’t.

He made his way through the kitchen to the doors leading out to the stone patio. She had a phone to her ear and stood out in the sunshine. Snagging a coat off the hook, he shrugged into it and ignored the pull on his shoulder. The infection had improved so he didn’t hurt constantly, but it wasn’t a walk in the park. Grabbing a second jacket for her, he headed outside.

“So do you have a preference? Daffodils or lilac?” Nat asked, and Clint smiled. She’d called Lila. It was still early there, but it was the weekend so the need to rush out to school wouldn’t interrupt.

Making noise with his steps to alert her to his arrival, he crossed the patio and held up her jacket when she glanced at him. With a roll of her eyes, she held the phone with one hand and offered her arm for him to help her slide into it.

“Daffodils are beautiful, sweetie. When I was little, there was a hill covered in them every spring.” Nat rarely brought up her childhood, and she never lied to the kids about it. She just didn’t tell them stories. Yet, there was truth in it.

She laughed at whatever Lila said and then answered, “Delicate doesn’t mean bad. Delicate means fragile, and should be cared for, adored, and protected. But delicate things can survive the harshest conditions….yes, just like your mom’s flower boxes. They always come back in the spring, right?”

Snow still lay like a blanket over the landscape around them. The sun glittered off it, and threatened to blind them. The cool crisp air tasted fresh after the hard discussion, and Nat kept her face to the sun, as if needing to soak in the light to clean out the shadows.

“Well then, I say daffodil, that gets my vote…when is the show?”

Lila’s school planned a pageant and her grade got the spring season, so that explained the flowers. When Clint talked to Cooper the day before, he’d been arguing with his sister that flowers were dumb. That had been fun times.

“That’s next month, so I’ll do my very best to be there,” she promised. “Yes, that’s why I said my best. Sometimes work gets in the way. Your mom can video it for me, okay? Take pictures of you in the costume in case I can’t?”

Her eyes widened a fraction, and she glanced at Clint. He raised his eyebrows. What? Then her smile grew and she laughed.

“That’s blackmail little one…oh yes it is. Extortion. Blackmail. No pictures for Auntie Nat if Auntie Nat isn’t there?” A sparkle reflected in her eyes and Clint smirked. “How about a deal?...yes, a deal. Video in case I can’t, picture _with_ me if I can?”

She chuckled again, and stuck her tongue out at Clint when he crossed his eyes.

“Well if you can convince your mom to make me an identical daffodil costume, we’ll take a picture together.”

Clint damn near laughed aloud at the idea.

“But no, you do not get to bug your mom about it…ah ah, I mean it. Good.” Her smile faded gradually, like a cloud blotting out the sun even though the sky above was a sparkling blue. Her chin tucked as she listened. Worry gripped Clint, what was Lila saying? “I’m sorry your friends said that, baby.” Nat’s voice was so damn solemn. “Did you tell your mom what they said?... Lila, don’t keep secrets from Mommy. She loves you very much and keeping secrets from her will hurt her feelings.”

Another beat and Clint leaned forward, gaze fixed on her. Nat shifted and came to lean next to the railing next to him so he could listen.

“But Auntie Nat, Mom doesn’t want us watching the news. I’m not supposed to know.” The worried whisper carried a troubled note and Clint wished he was right there, scooping his daughter up. Something had upset her.

“You’re not going to get into trouble. You heard it from your friends at school, but Mom still needs to know that.” Nat kept her voice steady.

“Can you just tell me it’s not true, Auntie Nat? You’re a hero, not a bad guy. The police aren’t really looking for you, are they?”

Nat closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Clint’s heart broke. He reached for the phone, he could take this one, but Nat shook her head when his fingers brushed the phone.

“Baby, do you remember when we watched _Maleficent?_ ”

“Yeah, I loved that movie.” Lila’s voice grew excited. “Everyone thought she was the bad guy, but she wasn’t. And she really didn’t want to hurt Sleeping Beauty—Aurora. So the stories got it wrong…well, she kind of did, but she wouldn’t. Cause Aurora was sweet and the fairies were crazy silly.” Lila’s laugh warmed Clint all the way down to his soul. From the bittersweet smile on Nat’s face, it did the same for her. “The king was the real bad guy, he did mean things to Maleficent, and that’s why she was…oh! Auntie Nat did someone do mean things to you, too?”

“No, baby I’m fine. I wouldn’t let them do mean things to me.” She lied so smoothly Clint might have believed her if he didn’t know her so well. “But sometimes…sometimes not everyone understands what I’m doing and not everyone approves.”

“But you _save_ people.” A child’s logic, so solid and sure. “You’re a _hero_ , Auntie Nat. My favorite hero…oooh! Don’t tell Daddy.”

Clint grinned and Nat met his smile with a small one of her own. “I try to be,” she promised Lila. “Every day, I try. But listen to your mom, and your dad. Don’t watch the news, and don’t listen to your friends. Don’t correct them. People are going to believe what they are most comfortable believing.”

A long moment of quiet, because that was a hard concept for adults to understand much less kids.

“I believe in you,” Lila said finally. “I know you’re a good guy. Someday, I’m going to tell your story—just like Maleficent, and everyone is going to know it.”

Clint’s heart fisted and Nat sucked in a breath as a sheen glittered over her eyes, then she dredged up a smile she even managed to infuse into her voice, “Deal. But only if you play Aurora.”

“I can do that. Because Aurora is going to grow up to be a hero, too. Just like Maleficent. She’s going to defend the woods, and she’s going to save people. Just like you.” Razor sharp assurance underscored every word. Nat pressed a hand to her lips and Clint took the phone from her fingers.

“Hey Bug,” he said, and Lila squealed. “Auntie Nat and I have to…”

“You have to go save the world, okay Daddy. I love you and I love Auntie Nat, too.”

“We love you, Bug. Give Coop, Nate and Mom our love... and Bug?”

“Yes Daddy?”

“Tell your mom what your friends said.” He didn’t always use the dad tone, but when he did, Coop and Lila didn’t argue.

“Okay, Daddy. Auntie Nat is a hero, right?”

Clint glanced over at Nat where she kept staring forward, blinking hard and keeping her fist to her mouth. She was fighting tears for all she was worth.

“She absolutely is, baby. And I’ll tell you a secret—she’s my favorite hero, too.” That earned him a laughing cheer, and then Lila hung up after promising she’d talk to her mom.

Not saying a word, Clint flipped the phone closed and pulled Nat to him. Face pressed against his neck, she shook and he just stood there and held her. The tears would never come. She always fought them, trained so hard to resist them, but the emotions tumbling through her bolted through every open crack in her façade. If anyone needed a long, hard cry and deserved the relief it could give her, it would be Nat.

“So,” he said as she quieted. “I’m totally getting a copy of you and Lila as daffodils, right?”

A watery laugh slipped free, and she sniffled. “Someone told her Black Widow was a murderer and a villain.”

“She didn’t believe them,” he assured her. “I know the truth, and so does Lila.”

“Clint, I killed people.” Fact.

“I know. The Black Widow had no mercy, no soul, and no kindness in her. She was never allowed. Natalia Alianova Romanova was molded to fit this image, and shaped at the whim of some very cruel masters.” Then leaning away, he gazed into her reddened eyes. “I also know that Natasha Romanoff, the woman who became Lila’s Auntie Nat, shook off her oppressors, broke their hold and became the hero your niece admires so much. You are more than what they made you. Never. Ever. Forget that.”

A little nod, her expression as troubled as Barnes’ had been upstairs. “I don’t know if I’m worth all of this,” she told him, and it broke his heart all over again.

“What you did all those years? They never gave you a choice. They never let you be you.” He touched a finger to her chest just above her heart. “This woman in front of me? The woman who is godmother to my children? My best friend? The woman who challenged a god to save me? She’s one of the best people I know and you made her. You keep fighting, you fight them every day, and you win. This is who you _choose_ to be and you’re everything, Nat. That other woman wasn’t you.”

“I know,” she confessed. “But I still did all those things. Do I really have a right to call myself a hero? To want…to want anything?”

“Fine,” he agreed with her, but kept his voice gentle. “You did all those things. You did more than that. You walked away, you escaped, you fought back and you became a person. You don’t have to call yourself a hero. I’ll do it. Laura would do it. Lila will do it. Even money, every man in that house will do it, and every other Avenger you know will do it.”

She licked her lips, and then swiped her hand against her cheeks, though there were no tears to swipe away.

“Sometimes, you see too much.” She pursed her lips and tilted her head from side to side. “Sometimes, I’m really glad you do.”

“I know,” he said, then pulled her back in for another hug. She leaned into him. “You going to watch more of those tapes?”

“Yeah,” she told him. “I need to watch all that I can.” Even though he didn’t ask, she added, “Alexei is probably in on this. And others. If they know things about me that I don’t—they can use them against me.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” he agreed. “But I need you to keep your head above the water line. Don’t drown in your past. It’s the _past._ ”

“I won’t,” she promised, then pulled herself back and straightened her shoulders. Bit by bit, she put herself back together and the loss in her eyes disappeared as if it had never existed. “Lila overhearing that stuff surprised me. I don’t…I’m selfish. I don’t want her to look at me differently.”

“Then you’re lucky, because she loves you almost as much as you love her. She’s only ever going to see Auntie Nat.”

“Her favorite hero,” Nat smirked, and he grinned. “Apparently I’m better than Hawkeye.”

He snorted. “I could have told you that. You beat the pants off Captain America and Iron Man, too.”

“Not Thor, though?” A sly look in her eyes. “I mean.. he was your man crush and after meeting him, I totally got why.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave her a not so gentle shove. “Hush. You’re not supposed to look at him remember.”

“So I don’t beat Thor, I see how it is.” But she was laughing, so he let her give him hell.

“Honey, I’ve seen you both shirtless,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “Man has chest for miles. Your boobs are nice, but…damn.”

That earned him a genuine laugh and she shoved him in return. There she was. There was his girl, beating back the shadows all over again. Sometimes, she just needed her partner to see past them to help navigate through.

And he could do that.

He would always do that.

“I’m starving,” she announced as she headed for the doors. “Feed me.”

“Deal,” he agreed easily since he already planned to do so. A glance up and he found Barnes watching them from the patio off his bedroom. He caught Clint’s gaze and nodded to him.

How long had he been standing up there listening?

Oh hell with it. Clint followed Nat inside. The longer all of them were together, the fewer secrets they were going to have. And Barnes was willing for Tony to build him a kill switch to keep Nat safe.

He could be trusted with another secret…but before they left, he and Barnes were going to have one more conversation. Man to man without Steve or Tony.

It was time.

 


	35. It’s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's memory begins to break loose as they head for Budapest.

Chapter Thirty-Five

_It’s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms._

Bucky

 

 

A fierce urge to protect Natalia wrapped him in barbed wire. It gnawed at him with every breath of air, yet he maintained his stillness as Tony worked, his gaze fixed on the wall. The Soldier would not be left behind on the mission, and if Bucky were honest about it—neither would he. The act of faith flew in the face of the Soldier’s desires, but Bucky would rather take the risk for himself than risk her.

“Boss, Miss Romanoff is ready to begin the briefing.” Friday’s accent was a welcome distraction. The faint scrape of metal on metal reminded him that Tony had opened a section of his arm, though it had taken both of them to locate the maintenance port.

“Tell Red to keep her britches on,” Tony murmured, concentration dragging the syllables. “Or she can take them off. I’m easy.”

Bucky slid a glance at the engineer. “You know she can kill you with her thighs, right?”

“That’s half the excitement,” Tony retorted without ever glancing as he completed his adjustments. “There we go,” he announced, pushing the rolling stool back a few feet to the holo screen display. “Initiating. This might sting a little.”

A shock rippled through him, and his shoulders went rigid. The second shock wasn’t nearly as surprising, but stung more. The third had him clamp his teeth with a hard click.

“Okay that’s your yellow light warnings. Red light is going to hurt a lot more.” Tony rolled back to him and sealed the maintenance portal. “Friday, lock down this protocol to mine and Agent Barton’s voice prints only.”

“Not Natalia?” Bucky asked after Friday acknowledged the command.

“She wouldn’t like it,” Tony said, his tone and body language dismissive, almost uncaring as if she were an afterthought. But Stark had played his hand very clearly. Natalia was not an afterthought. As if he weren’t in any hurry, Stark packed away his tools and then drained the dregs of coffee he’d let go cold while he worked. “You know I don’t get you, Memento.”

From somewhere amidst his worktable, the billionaire plucked some dried fruit—raspberries from the scent—and munched on them as he leaned back in his seat and studied Bucky.

“Natalia is ready for the briefing.” The mission for Budapest would be outlined. They would all need to be there.

“Nah, she told Friday she was ready cause she knows it’ll take me at least an hour to show up, so the briefing will be over dinner in about ninety minutes.” A smirk. The man was so confident everyone would wait for him.

It must be nice.

“Are you certain?” Natalia did not seem the type to suffer fools, and while Stark was not a fool—he enjoyed teasing them all even when he wrestled with darker emotions. The minute his mind skipped to why Stark had a reason to wrestle with his darker side around him, Bucky swallowed his objections.

Stark had done him many favors. Inexplicably.

“Friday, where is Ms. Romanoff right now?”

“Ms. Romanoff is in the gym, Boss. She’s running, and has been for the forty-five minutes. She’s reduced her six-minute mile to four minutes and fifty-three seconds. Pulse and respiration are at optimal, and she appears in no rush to cease the activity.”

“See, we have time.” Stark smirked. “Now where I was I?”

“You don’t get me.”

“Yeah, I don’t.” He popped another handful of the dried fruit into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he studied Bucky. The Soldier considered the billionaire, dangerous and unpredictable. Qualities that made him a worthy opponent, but also suggested an unstable ally. “You have this whole amnesia storyline down pat—you remember just enough to make Rogers happy to have his BFF back, and you’re playing some game with Nat I haven’t fully broken down yet—and you have a bad dream, trigger, and go straight to her. Pretty awkward memory loss story after you told me you remembered every single person you’ve killed.”

The fight in the silo. Bucky glanced at his hands, and considered how to address it. Finally, he shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“Why don’t we start with the truth?” Stark toyed with a device, rotating it in small circles with his fingers. “What’s your game with them? Are you part of the trap to bring Rogers and Nat right into Hydra’s hands?”

Wait…what? Bucky frowned. “I’m not going to let them get trapped or lead them into one.”

“We’re all going to trip the trap. That’s what Budapest is—a Widow’s Trap according to _Basic Instinct._ What’s your play?”

A headache gathered behind one eye and the Soldier straightened his shoulders. “I cannot address your pop culture references. You mean Tatiana Venoslova?”

“Wait, you know her last name?”

One nod.

“And you’re just saying it now?” Stark glared. “This right here…this is why I have trust issues, Barnes.”

“No one asked me before. And I don’t know everything I know.” It was a calculated risk, but the Soldier agreed with Barnes. Unstable ally or not, Stark would be useful to accomplish their mission objectives. “Yet.”

“What the hell does that mean?” And just like that, he fisted the device in his hand and his thumb brushed over the depression. Based on the earlier tests, it was likely the trigger for whatever failsafe had just been installed in his arm.

“I was the Asset.” The Soldier had no care for designations. “I was Bucky Barnes. I’m both and I’m neither.”

“Playing the Primal Fear—the split personality card is not an improvement over the amnesia one.” Sober, serious, and snarky. The engineer made no attempt to disguise his impatience or his anger.

The Soldier weighed the options, but it was Bucky who lifted his chin. “I’m not all me yet. What—what they did in Wakanda, it’s healing in here.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “There’s me and there’s him. He…he’s easier when there’s danger or a threat. Even a perceived threat. I’m the one with ties to Steve. Steve was—is my best friend. At least we were, before. Now. I know he wants me to be that guy and I don’t know if I can. There are so many fragments and pieces.”

It took a while to sort it out, but he knew why he’d charged through Steve and down the stairs. Natalia. He’d remembered every moment of watching the test, dispassionate and critical. Karpov wanted a threat assessment of the potential Widow.

The Soldier admired her tenacity and her skill. She’d impressed him, even more when she’d allowed them to end the combat uncompleted. Karpov admired her as well, and joked maybe they could co-opt her for Asset training.

Then she’d been hit.

He’d reacted. Protecting her and dealing with the threat—getting a doctor to treat her should not have been difficult, yet when he snapped awake, he hadn’t known if she’d been all right or not. She wasn’t there and it took him time to reconcile the memory to the present.

Of course, he’d needed to see Natalia.

“So you’re both of them?” Skepticism rifled along the question.

“Yes, but he isn’t me or I’m…merging. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand myself.” The confession cost him. It had been easier to play along, to pretend it was going to be okay. To…to be who Steve needed, even if he would never be that man again. To attempt figuring out who Natalia needed him to be.

“Why are you telling me this?” The threat in Stark’s eyes hadn’t diminished, but he continued to study Bucky as if he might discover some hidden secret.

“You wanted to know if I was pretending. I’m not. The Asset—the Soldier, he existed for a long time after they broke me. I don’t think he was always alone, but I know I wasn’t always with him.” It sounded so awkward to try and give voice to his thoughts. “How can I not remember now when I told you I remembered all of them in the silo?”

A flare of recognition in Stark’s eyes, or maybe triumph.

“Yes,” Bucky told him. “I remember the fight. I remember why we fought. And I remember being sorry then and sorry now.”

“But you forgot all of them? Convenient.”

“No, I have lists of names in my books. Names that came to me—sometimes with how they died or maybe just where. Some are just names, like they weren’t people, just names on a list. I don’t have context for all of them.” Huffing out a breath, he kept his fingers separated. He had to maintain a low threat profile for Stark, an obvious one. “I thought if I told you I remembered all of them…you’d kill me.”

Tony stared at him, the anger in his expression giving way to surprise before he flushed with fury all over again. “So you thought suicide by me would be the way to go?”

A shrug. “Then…I thought it was right for someone I had caused to suffer to be able to get their revenge. I don’t…I didn’t remember killing them…your parents. Or how I had done it until we saw the tape.” After the images wouldn’t leave his mind. Part of going into cryo had been as much to escape the horror as to prevent committing more atrocities.

“Well at least you’re not apologizing anymore,” Tony said then blew out a breath and shoved away from the worktable and pocketing the device.

“You don’t want my apologies.”

“No I don’t.”

“You don’t want me here, either.”

“I’ve learned to live with disappointment.”

He had a quip for everything. Bucky frowned.

“Look, Barnes? In the wide world of things you and me? We cross in two, maybe three places.”

“Steve.” Bucky supplied immediately. “Natalia. Clint.”

“Precisely.” Then Tony hesitated, and he twisted to pick up a tiny screwdriver and tucked it into his pocket as if he might need it later. “You spent seventy years as a POW. I spent three months in a cave and I’m still screwed up. I think you got a raw deal.”

What did he expect Bucky to say to that?

“What I guess I’m saying is I like to think I can get there someday that you’ll be more than the guy who killed my parents.”

“Then why are you helping me now?” Genuine curiosity feathered through him. Why would the billionaire choose to suffer?

“Because I’m good at pretending, too.” Tony jerked his head to the door. “You can go now. Probably be wise to pack your stuff. We’re leaving tonight.”

 

An hour later, Bucky leaned against the counter in the kitchen, his plate already cleaned. Steve had fixed a chicken dish, not that Bucky paid much attention to the name as he shoveled it in swiftly. He’d had three portions. Friday had provided them with satellite footage of the location in Budapest and read off the vitals while they ate.

With artfully applied cosmetics disguising any signs of her earlier grief and weariness, Natalia studied the images with assessing eyes. “It’s an office building.” Plain. Generic. Unassuming. “Were you able to get any interior scans?”

If he hadn’t witnessed her breakdown with Clint earlier—and heard more than he intended—her professional tone might have fooled him. She’d spent most of her day reviewing the tapes and recordings. Though the last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone with them, he’d obeyed her wishes.

“Negative, Ms. Romanoff. The interior is shielded in some fashion.”

“Mark all entrances and exits you can identify from exterior scan?” The image changed to a wireframe.

“That’s a lot,” Clint said, leaning against the wall.

Natalia didn’t respond, just kept an eye on the building. “Local rooftop coverage?”

Friday obliged.

Bucky grimaced. The lines of sight were terrible. Not impossible, but they would make for tricky overwatch. Clint’s scowl confirmed his opinion wasn’t far different.

Steve and Tony both studied the screen with near identical expressions, listening, absorbing, and likely prepping theories.

“Anything on the books for what they are pretending this place is?” Because what details they’d gleaned offered very little.

“Unfortunately, Ms. Romanoff, the building has passed through several shell companies in the last fifteen years I have been able to backtrack the research. None of these companies exist currently, and the building doesn’t even seem to exist in the property records.”

Natalia pivoted. “Then we scout it the old fashioned way.”

“No,” Clint said, his tone flat. “We’re not sending you in blind.”

“Not my first mission. I can get in and I can get out.”

“It almost went wrong in Prague,” Steve pointed out. “You weren’t expecting Alexei. We have no reason to believe he won’t be here.”

“And no reason to believe he will. What’s the other alternative? Kick in the door and hope they don’t have it wired with enough semtex to take out the block?” The dry response pulled a smile from Bucky.

“You’re not selling your case. You can’t survive being blown up like that,” Stark offered. “Friday and I might be able to get better readings on the building once we’re there.”

“Fine, but we need a fall back. Considering what we found at Azzano, I’m not leaving that place standing. But if they have any prisoners, we need to get in and get them out.” Natalia remained resolute.

“No one is saying we leave anyone behind” Steve soothed, but his gaze was on the building.

“Then the best way to get a look inside is to walk in the front door,” Natalia argued. “And before you three offer…none of you speak the language.”

“I do.”

Her roll of the eyes didn’t insult him.

“It’s riskier to send you in than it is me.”

“Then why not walk in together?” He didn’t expect the offer to be accepted, but the Soldier settled within him. “The goal is to get inside, get one of Stark’s scanners in, or something to get a read on the building?”

Nods all around, and Steve wore an expression that said he really wished Bucky would stop making his offer now.

“It’s a straightforward, simple operation. It doesn’t require a two man group.” Natalia folded her arms, meeting each of their gazes and holding them one at a time. “You’re all going to be right there. I’m wearing Stark’s tracker. If the worst happens and they take me, you can follow. I’ll activate it before I go in.”

Hardly mollified, Stark admitted, “It would give us a second set of ears in there. Friday would be able to follow along and relay.”

“C’mon, Tony…you don’t want her to go inside anymore than the rest of us.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, his tone verging on the impatience he used to exhibit when the world frustrated him and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not that it ever stopped him.

“No, I don’t want her going in there, but she’s right that she’s the one of us most qualified to do it.” Stark ground out. “No offense Barton.”

“None taken,” he sighed, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a tell. He was about to agree with the plan even if he didn’t want to, and from the way Natalia’s expression relaxed she knew it.

“Then we should get a move on. We need to be in position. Let Stark turn his toys loose on it and see if he can get a better reading. If not, I’ll head in…”

“In your tact suit,” Steve said firmly. “Not a sly entry or in civilian clothes with barely a single weapon on you.”

“Let’s not complicate this more than we have to,” Natalia gentled the suggestion by pressing her hand to his arm as she passed him. “And Steve, I’m never _that_ unarmed.”

Even as the others agreed one at a time, the Soldier debated a change in plan. He could get in via a rear exit, work his way to her as she came in the front. They knew her, knew her face. The Black Widow made entry, it would rattle cages and make a lot of noise.

They’d never see him coming.

Glancing away from the schematic, he caught Clint studying him. The other man said nothing until they were loading the quinjet. Stark would be using his stealth suit, but he wouldn’t drop until they were near Budapest. The suit had less firepower than his standard one, but it wouldn’t trigger alarms to alert the UN Iron Man was operating without supervision. Even if the suit was photographed—it didn’t look like his standard suit.

Steve had caught Natalia’s arm as she stepped out the door, and tugged her back inside. Bucky considered joining them when Clint cleared his throat. “You’re going to follow her, aren’t you?”

For a split second, he considered down playing the idea. It was still only half-formed and would hinge on what they discovered when they arrived. “I am considering it. There are a half dozen entry points away from the main entrance. If Natalia goes in the front, and I went in the back. She would likely draw their attention, and I could proceed with the surveillance, and be nearby if she got into trouble.”

“Maybe,” Clint said, not dismissing his idea. “And if you got into trouble?”

“You realize they never sent the Soldier in with an extraction team, right?” It wasn’t bragging if it were a fact.

“They never sent me or Nat in with one either, doesn’t mean we didn’t need help now and again.”

Weapons check completed, he eyed Clint. “I understand why Steve and Tony are reluctant to send Natalia in.” Their emotional investment compromised their decision making. “I do not understand why you are similarly compromised.”

“Not a conversation we need to have,” Clint answered, as he stretched his arm and tested his shoulder. The wound had not fully healed, and stiffness marked his movement. As it was, he could be their greatest liability. “Do us all a favor though, don’t try to win points with her by joining her on some crazy strike mission.”

“If it means the difference between her going on her own or taking back up…I’m going to go with her.” He wouldn’t deny the need to follow her. “I won’t encourage her, though. I’m not crazy. Steve might beat my ass if I let her do that without at least trying to stop her.”

“Yeah…and I’d help him. That said, if she won’t be dissuaded—bring her back in one piece.” Yes, Clint knew her very well. When Natalia wanted something…

_…”Soldier,” she called, motioning to the building. “We can sit out in the snow all night or I can go in and find our target.”_

_He eyed her for a moment, then the building. It was a garish club for men with too much money and time on their hands. The owners catered to any number of decadent and perverse desires. Their target had entered two days prior, but had yet to exit. They needed to at the very least, interrogate him for details on his contacts before they disposed of him._

_“It is an unwise plan,” he said after some consideration. “We don’t know where he is precisely. You would need freedom of movement to search…and you more resemble what they feed to the clientele.” He used more words than normal, and while the Widow was certainly skilled in seduction, their current mission parameters did not require she engage in the skillset that often left her too exposed for his taste._

_Not that he was allowed to choose, nor should he even be considering it in those terms._

_“Pfft,” she dismissed his argument. “Then it cannot hurt to try. A look inside for the layout. Then if necessary, we’ll go in the hard way and get him out.” She wasn’t looking at him, but rather the building. It was an older one, with high windows, and balustrades. A throwback to a more decadent past, but it lacked the luster of the time period. “Or I could make my way up and let you in somewhere up there.”_

_It had too many variables. “No.” He resumed his observation, the discussion over. This was hardly his first mission with the Widow. Since he’d been assigned to hone her expert skills, they’d often been paired on missions._

_A whisper of movement at his side and he flicked a glance to where she’d been. His eyes narrowed. Despite his objection, she’d chosen to defy him and break protocol. The act would force him to report her for conditioning._

_His mouth tightened. Minutes later, she appeared on the street wearing a scarlet dress, the skirt flowing around her legs in the violent cold. Her jacket didn’t close over off the seemingly strapleess top, and her nipples were pronounced and visible from his perch._

_Hips swaying provocatively, she glanced behind her once, and he knew it was to look up at him. He could almost picture her smirk as she sashayed up to the front door. Part of the stone went to dust as his metal fist closed around the edge._

_Within seconds of her approach, she had a hand on the chest of the doorman as she wove her web of lies around him prettily. Not even ninety seconds later, he admitted her into the private club and the Soldier could only continue his vigilance._

_An inappropriate tension corded his spine and he grew impatient as the minutes passed._

_The mission took priority over everything—except the Widow was also his mission. Her training. Her safety._

_Her entry set one mission against the other. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck._

_Five minutes._

_He would allow her that much time, then he would move to another access point and locate her._

_The Widow needed to survive._

_Accidents happened to targets._

_He could survive reconditioning._

_She might not._

_The realization elevated her safety within his mission priorities…_

“…Barnes?” The snap of his name jerked him out of the memory and he blinked at Clint. They were on the quinjet, somewhere outside of Lucerne preparing for Budapest. Natalia wanted to make entry to a building, Barton wanted him to assure him he would keep her alive.

“Yes,” he answered automatically.

Suspicion edged Clint’s gaze. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” More than fine. He had a genuine memory of her, fully formed. One where she was neither broken nor bleeding from injuries he or someone else gave her. There’s been a playfulness in her green eyes so like her today, it struck him when she sauntered aboard that her smirk hadn’t changed.

Not in decades.

It still held an air of mystery, as though she were the only one privy to whatever had caused it to grace her lips. Steve was a step behind her, and his cheeks were red, and his hair mussed. Natalia gave him an indulgent look, then made her way up to the cockpit.

The intimacy in the shared looks, followed by the way Steve tracked her with his gaze and made no attempt to disguise the hunger in his eyes set the Soldier on edge. He had no business distracting her before an op, nor touching her at all. She belonged to…

Bucky swallowed the last thought and found a place to sit as Stark joined them. He wore a sour expression, but he slid right into the co-pilot’s seat as Natalia began powering the quinjet up.

Steve gave him a nod as he joined him. “Everything all right?”

No. No it wasn’t. “It’s fine.” He didn’t elaborate nor did he acknowledge Clint’s arched brows. The archer was right to be wary of him.

During the flight, Bucky let the conversation flow around him. Clint had gotten Natalia to laugh at least once. Stark managed it twice. And Steve had joined in the teasing. Despite the hard feelings which still ebbed and flowed around them, the four had fallen into a comfortable pattern. Stark no longer eyed Steve so warily, though he gained a watchfulness whenever Steve and Natalia spoke to each other.

No. Neither Stark nor Steve made any attempt to hide their feelings, even if Stark relied on bluster. Natalia flirted and teased with all of them. Controlling the situation by defusing any potentially tense moments so adeptly, he had to wonder if she were even aware of doing it.

The Soldier turned the memory over they’d discovered. Tactically, he’d been perturbed with her choices. It put him in the position of having to choose one mission over the other. Bucky focused on the challenge in her expression, both on the roof, and then when he caught her glance on the street.

She’d practically dared him to follow her.

He’d decided to wait, give her time to pull off her risky maneuver before he retrieved her personally.

But had he? The threads of the memory disappeared into fogginess. He couldn’t shake the possessiveness nor the genuine discord the idea of reporting her or sending her to conditioning left him with. Reporting on the Widow’s progress had been one of the parameters of his mission. That much seemed clear as her TO.

Why would he have been her training officer though? She was a Widow. She’d graduated, at least that was the sense he had from the memory and they’d been paired on missions before. Had they been partners?

Had he shared with her what Clint and Steve seemed to share with her now? Had they replaced him?

The selfish thought tried to sink its hooks in, but he tore it away. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and tried to pull the memory up again. It had been so real, he’d felt the cold of the snow and ice soaking into his pants. Natalia’s cheeks had been ruddy from the wind, but her smile undiminished.

She’d acted not out of discomfort but boredom. The more he turned the memory over, the more he recognized similar behavior to what he’d seen out of her the last few days…only she’d been far less guarded then.

Had that only been for him?

Why did he have to remember this in pieces? Why couldn’t he have it all, and answer all the lingering questions? Every fragment he reclaimed only solidified his need to remain in her orbit.

Nearing Budapest, Stark launched from the quinjet. The dark armor he wore vanished from visible sight, and their radar wasn’t picking him up either. “Well, look at that,” Natalia commented with a hint of a smile. “You finally tripped over subtle, Tony.”

“Subtle? I’m invisible to standard scanning technology, and radar including high frequency resonance. I’m also closing in on this lovely little building. It’s older, and uglier in person.”

“I don’t know, it has a kind of old world charm.” The deadpan delivery didn’t support her comment.

“You Russians and your macabre sense of humor.”

“It would be macabre if we were in Transylvania. Hungary is much less gothic—holding two klicks out. I’ve got a couple of places we can set the quinjet down, depending on our next steps.”

Steve and Clint were both on their feet, gearing up. Packing away the lingering memory of Natalia and the scarlet dress…laughing green eyes…curved lips…yes, he had to put it all away especially with her sitting only a few feet away. She needed him present now.

“How are we looking, Tony?”

“Give me a minute, Red.” The tightness in his voice suggested a distinct lack of success. Steve and Clint shared a look, and Bucky turned his attention to Natalia. She flipped a switch on the control panel. The building appeared on the monitors. Switching his attention, he studied it. It was mid-evening, Budapest was still very much awake, the night life filling the streets. Yet, the cross streets near the older building were empty, puddles of darkness splashing between the set far apart streetlamps.

The seconds dragged into minutes. Bucky did a mental inventory of knives, body armor, and guns. He wished he had his goggles, but not the face mask. The combination inspired fear, a useful atmosphere for the Soldier when he attacked, but they were dehumanizing together.

The Soldier was more.

Bucky was more than the Soldier.

They were more together.

“Whatever they’re doing in there, we’re blind,” Tony revealed, frustration echoing under every word. “It’s late…do we really want to try the front door tonight? Or wait until dawn?”

Bucky focused on Natalia who studied the screen. “I’m not seeing any movement on the street—what about cameras?”

“A few. They’ve got some serious coverage on the front door. Checking the perimeter.” They waited in silence, the air in the quinjet growing heavy. Natalia would be going in. They weren’t going to have any other choice. Bucky might be able to pull it off, but the Soldier was better suited as a mallet. They needed a scalpel to extract the data Natalia required.

“Okay Red, you’re up. 360-degree coverage on this building. They are a little more subtle in the back, but it’s there.” Resignation reflected in the word choice. “How do you want to do this?”

Lips pursed, she shifted the pilot’s seat to glance at Clint. “Istanbul.”

The archer groaned. “Really?”

“Istanbul?” Steve questioned.

“It sounds worse than it is.” She murmured. “I’m setting us down. Stark. Meet us. I’m going to need to change.”

Which meant she would be going in with fewer weapons. While she was hardly vulnerable with her skillset, he would prefer to minimize her risks. She chose a space in at the top of an empty parking garage sadly bereft of any surveillance. Likely it was only open during daylight hours or perhaps they couldn’t afford the extra precautions.

A smirk graced her lips as she bypassed him and headed for her locker. Memory flickered at the knowing in her eyes and the confidence in her walk. Had Natalia ever walked into a room she didn’t own?

_“Detail any deviations from programming.” Karpov eyed Natalia across the desk. Though the Soldier should have been debriefed first, his handlers always insisted on debriefing her while he sat in the room. The choice allowed him to track her report._

_“None. We spent two days staking out the club, but Jankovich didn’t exit. Concerned he may have slipped our surveillance, I made entry as entertainment—then allowed one of the club members to_ acquire _me,”_ _she didn’t bother to hide her roll of eyes or boredom in detailing how she seduced a mark with little more than her presence. “Once we were secluded in his rooms, I interrogated him for specific details on the club, its layout, and security checkpoints on all levels. He was surprisingly knowledgeable. After I neutralized him, I used his card and searched the upper levels. It took little time to track down Jankovich.” A tired, thoughtless little shrug as if the whole course of events truly had been less than memorable. “He partied himself into a stupor with alcohol, opiates, and sex. I alerted the Soldier to my position, and he joined me for the interrogation.”_

_Karpov nodded. She’d written out a list of names as they extracted them. After, he’d snapped Jankovich’s neck and Natalia climbed down the building with him. She’d jumped right into his arms from the second floor without hesitation._

_The scarlet dress had been as soft and thin as he’d imagined._

_“Did you have sex with either of your marks, Widow?”_ _Karpov wasn’t looking at her so much as examining the names._

_“It wasn’t necessary.” She answered, unperturbed though the Soldier did not agree with her answer. Bruises decorated her thighs. He’d seen them when she jumped. And what looked like teeth marks had been visible along the curve of her breast—perhaps she had not had sex, but she had allowed them to touch her to achieve her goals._

_“And who performed the interrogation of Jankovich? You or the Asset?”_

_“The Asset,” she answered smoothly. “The target required certain pain adjustments to penetrate the haze of narcotics.”_

_“Very well, and no malfunctions in his performance?” Karpov focused on him now._

_“No, Comrade. None. Once we completed the mission, we separated to rendezvous at the safe house and await the transport team.”_

_Karpov’s eyes narrowed. “Transport was two days late for your extraction. How did you fill the hours?”_

_Natalia smiled, her nose wrinkling in a almost impish fashion. “Watched decadent television and read forbidden magazines when I did not have to fetch food for myself.”_

_The Asset was not supposed to eat. His meals were regulated._

_The paczki threatened to overwhelm his taste buds, and he only accepted the smallest bites._

_“You confess to indulging in contraband while out of the country, Widow?” Karpov played at being scandalized, but the leer in his eyes was anything but. He almost drooled as he stared at Natalia._

_“I was bored, Comrade.” Another careless shrug. “Conversation does not seem to be in the Soldier’s skillset.”_

_No._

_But he was learning._

_“Very well. Excellent work, Widow. You are free to go for the evening. Petrovich has sent word he wants you in Moscow. You will leave in the morning.”_

_The Widow should not be deployed alone. Yet he could say nothing. Karpov had not addressed him._

_A tick flickered one finger on his right hand. He squared the motion away._

_Any display of errors in his control would lead to conditioning. He remained at optimal performance._

_“Very well, Comrade. Until next time,” she said and added a little wink to the general before she looked at him. Anyone else would have seen only her amused, albeit bored expression. “Do svidanya Soldat.”_

_He said nothing. His response not required for the interaction. Karpov had not given him leave to speak. The Widow was only his handler when they were on missions. At base, he answered to Karpov._

_“See,” she said with a huff, dropping a hand to her hip in a motion sure to pull Karpov’s attention to her curves. “No conversation at all.”_

_Yet when she looked at him with her back safely to Karpov, secrets danced in her green eyes. His secrets. Hers._

_She would protect them._

_He would protect her._

_“Perhaps we will give him a few phrases for your next mission,” Karpov called. “If you ask me nicely.”_

_If Karpov were not his handler, the Soldier would re-categorize him immediately._

_The Widow laughed lightly as she left. The door closed behind her._

_The Soldier stared straight ahead._

_He was not allowed to react to her absence, to her deployment without him, to the lack of knowing when he would see her again._

_“Very well, Soldat. Mission report…”_

“You sure you’re up for this Soldier?” Natalia stood in front of him, dressed casually in jeans tucked into black boots, and a long-sleeved shirt as she pulled on a leather jacket.

“I’m ready,” he promised her. She would not be deploying without him.

Not again.

Behind him Clint muttered, "God, I hate Budapest."


	36. It's just like Budapest all over again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Budapest, Natasha confronts old and new threats alike.

Chapter Thirty-Six

_It’s just like Budapest all over again_

Natasha

 

 

She left the parking garage on foot, and via a cracked sidewalk. Overhead, somewhere, Tony tracked her via his stealth suit. It was good…the noise dampening he’d been working on didn’t even give away the telltale whine of the repulsors. The corner of her mouth kicked up. She’d have to commend him on it later, because really—that was some sweet work.

The building she approached was three blocks away, plenty of time to get a feel for the area. Budapest was a thriving city, but this sector seemed to be all business and industry, no night life, no restaurants, not even a café for daylight operating hours. The gray stone gave way to red brick then to clay and back to stone again. Uniform and yet with variations which served as a nod to a past where conformity had been required for survival, yet even the smallest of rebellions could fuel the soul. A curve of a Greek column tucked here or a Roman colonnade place there, all neatly disguised beneath a blanket of the ordinary.

The cluster of buildings allowed James and Steve rooftop access to shadow her steps as well. Clint was hopefully with one of them. He wasn’t healed enough to be running an op, but the flat look in his eyes when she’d mentioned him staying on the quinjet terminated the argument before it began. He’d have stayed if she would. Not once had she not followed him out into an op—injured or not—and he was much the same.

Especially considering where they were.

As if summoned by the thought, he muttered a few deprecations under his breath. And there was a huffed questioning noise from Steve and Clint settled.

He really didn’t like Budapest. Though, the last time they were there—well, it had only been the two of them on an easy seduce and grab that turned into a small munitions war amidst rioting in the streets.

Good times.

Hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, she walked at a languid pace. She had places to be, but she was in no hurry to get there. CCTVs were placed strategically along the block she followed, but most appeared inactive.

Budgetary cuts maybe?

Hopefully not, the gentrification of old Budapest tangled with the rise of counter culture throughout the nineties. Freedom was a heady drug, and like the sun after a particularly long and brutal winter, it could burn as much as dazzle. Stability in the people and the economy could support a stable government.

Maybe when this was all done, she’d come back and…

What? Settle down?

Snorting at herself, she shook her head. After all these years, she’d like to think she’d developed a more practical sense of what awaited at the next turning of the wheel.

Shunting the maudlin thoughts away, she followed the road until her target was in sight. She added a sway to her steps, with a hint of drunken weaving. At the edge of the sidewalk, she extended her arms, as if she had to walk a balance beam before she crossed the road. Then with a skip and a hop, she was at the corner of the building. If the streets didn’t narrow through the area it would remind her more of Rákóczi Avenue, yet the buildings lacked the luster of clean stone facings.

A red light flickered in the corner of one camera as it tracked her passage. Humming, she tipped her head from side to side as though moving to a song only she could hear. The blades in their sheaths on the inside of her jacket a reminder she was hardly the helpless, and oblivious role she slipped into like a second skin. How many missions had she completed with only herself to rely on?

Letting a laugh bubble out, she added a spin. It wouldn’t do if the cameras didn’t get her best angles.

“Jesus, Red.” Stark muttered.

“Silent running, Stark.” Clint admonished, but she could tune them out. The banter grounded her, reminding her she wasn’t alone. On the damp streets of the Eastern European city, she could be in any decade. Hadn’t she engaged in a similar ploy in Sofia? Or was it Vilnius? Those memories held a hazy, dreamlike quality. Definitely in Istanbul, which she remembered with startling clarity. Stumbling drunk gained her access to the military police’s barracks and the oh so helpful men who’d just wanted to give her a place to put her slurring mouth. Penetrating several layers of security were far easier when the marks deemed one helpless.

And the Red Room taught her to cultivate her femininity and to arm herself with vulnerability. Like the garrote curling around her right wrist, looking more like a delicate bracelet—she wielded herself as effectively.

She was the weapon after all. 

Nearing the main doors, she stumbled and mimed windmilling to stay on her feet even as she rose up on point in her boots. The giggle she released was more her than the role, but it fit so she didn’t worry about it. Nicolette, she decided, had danced for a few years—more as a hobby and because it gave her a great ass. She loved to startle people. Escaping to Hungary for a skip year freed her from all expectations at home.

So what was a bad little girl doing in such a respectable part of town as this?

Well that was the ten million dollar question, wasn’t it.

Light shimmered behind the glass doors of the main entrance. The lobby visible and inviting with its blue veined marble, and black stone desk—oh, it looked so lovely and warm compared to the damp chill soaking into her drunken bones. With a clap of her hands, she charged at the doors and tugged one.

Half expecting it to be locked, she damn near landed on her ass as it flew open.

Huh.

Unexpected.

Leaning forward, she made a show of peeking inside and called out in a voice two parts timid, one part drunk, and a final part giggly. “Hello?” She leaned into a southern American accent. It had been a while since she’d been to South Carolina, but she’d mastered the drawl in the sixties.

Or maybe it was the seventies.

Three months in Charleston tempting a member of the Senate Armed Forces committee into giving her access to all his private files had required she pick up a hobby or three.

“Hello?” She called again, then tip-toed inside like she were the player in some terrible cartoon that wouldn’t know stealth if it bit her in the ass. The scent of cleaning solutions tangled with the hint of sawdust and disuse—much like one would get in an older, empty building where the past had ground itself down into the wooden panels lining the hall.

She spun in a slow circle, arching her head back and skimming the view of the roof. It had a lovely mural painted across it of an open blue sky with cloudy wisps. Almost too fancy for the location, and yet it suggested a lack of artifice—or exceptionally clever staging. A second spin, and she had all the cameras pinpointed.

Dancing across the floor, she put her hands on the black stone counter of the security desk and pushed herself up. If she had some bubblegum, she would have blown a bubble as she peered over the edge.

“Anyone home?”

Nothing but quiet tickled her ears.

Twisting, she dropped to her feet and glanced at the floor to ceiling glass paneling comprising the main entrance. Across the street and up, she knew Clint or Steve or James had a position to see her. Somewhere higher above, Stark patrolled.

Biting her lip, she pushed away from the security desk and wandered through the wide open lobby.

Four halls jutted out from the main foyer. One went to some stairs and a mezzanine terrace level. All dark up there, and she wrinkled her nose. Another headed toward a maintenance room, and some bathrooms.

“Oh!” Eyes brightening, she made a swerving and uneven beeline for the toilets. The interior of the women’s room lit up as she pressed the door open. Nice, motion sensor lights. The act put her in the blind spot for the hallway’s camera, which seemed more fixed on the men’s room than the ladies.

Insulting or suggestive? Good questions.

The public restroom was clean, almost too clean. The astringent cleaners used to disinfect stung her nose and she didn’t have to pretend squinching her nose up at the scent. She lunged for one of the stalls as if desperate to empty her bladder. It took her less than a minute to pee and some things shouldn’t be manufactured, but she’d mastered the art of swiftness.

No sounds reached her, not the faint squeak of the door to the hall opening. No soft shoes against the marble floors. No hint of another breathing. After flushing, she buttoned up her jeans and slid out to the vanity to wash her hands. There it was, in the corner—another camera.

Naughty bastards.

As she dried her hands, she craned her head around as if admiring the filigree work along the ceilings. Digging her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a tube of lipstick and applied it. There was a sheer coating on it, but it was a lovely shade of deep crimson.

Dragging a lounge chair—they had a very nice sitting room for women who probably only came in here to pee—over to the camera, she climbed up and looked right into the camera with a crazy, drunken smile.

 _Do you see me bastards? Do you know I’m coming for you?_ But what she said aloud was, “You are bad, bad boys.” Then she pressed her lips to the lens and planted a kiss on it.

Hopping down, she giggled like an errant schoolgirl, and danced out of the bathroom. A part of her half expected to find it full of armed men ready to take her into custody. The emptiness proved far more unnerving. Out of character or not, she shoved open the men’s room door and snuck a look.

Empty.

No sent of urine or other body odors she would normally associate with a men’s latrine.

Returning to the hall, she danced her way back to the foyer. The stairs were tucked into the corner and behind them elevators for the upper floors. Probably a hidden stairwell tucked even farther back.

The monitors on the security desk were all dark. The last hallway was also cast in shadow. The lights from the lobby didn’t penetrate it far.

“Nat…” Clint’s voice a gentle warning in her ear. “I don’t like this.”

He wasn’t alone. She hadn’t encountered a single soul. Idle staff was one thing, but this place seemed deserted—and yet not.

She eyed the elevators, and then the darkened hallway. Everything in her said take the stairs and check out their offices. The doors were unlocked, the lights were on and that hallway made her skin crawl. Up would be better.

Up would be safer.

Someone had to be here right?

Resisting the urge to fold her arms at the sudden chill licking up her spine, she angled for the darkened hallway. The fact no part of her wanted anything to do with it said it was exactly where she should go.

She’d never been to this building. She had no memories of it.

That she knew of.

Her recall, however, could not be trusted. It was the shiftiest part of her personality, with lies folded over lies and tucked into deceptions.

No lights came on as she ventured into the shadow. The dark fingers grew, and expanded, threatening to swallow her. A wild little giggle escaped, thankfully it fit the role she’d slipped into which apparently was the idiot bimbo who ran upstairs in the middle of a horror movie or decided to have sex out in the open, never mind the ax wielding maniac.

God she loved to mock those movies. Slasher films were like the cotton candy of terror, insubstantial and cloying. Real terror was being handcuffed to a bed, aware that every moment of breath had been granted conditionally. Real terror latched like shackles on every limb as they eroded your control over yourself and left you to the whim of sadists and madmen.

Real terror lay in existing only as a weapon—a tool to destroy others and to drown in the blood…

“Tasha, your heart rate is way the hell up. What’s going on?” Tony.

Shit.

She paused and moved to lean against the wall. The cool surface a welcome relief against the stickiness clinging to her skin. Tapping the bracelet twice was the closet she could come to responding without giving it away. With deep, regular breaths, she brought her recalcitrant heart to heel and let the tangling cobwebs of the past slip away.

The last thing she should be doing was inciting a panic attack mid-mission. She didn’t do this when she had a mission. They only happened when she’d been idle. The loss of control worried her more than any other aspect. If she slipped when facing Alexei—he’d kill her.

Worse, he might kill the others when they came for her.

Silence over the comms told her they’d found her response satisfactory.

Pushing away from the wall, she continued down the darkened hallway but she kept close to the wall. Even as her eyes adapted, she couldn’t make out anything to distinguish why this hall rested in disuse and darkness.

Two doors. One opened easily and housed only cleaning supplies. The stench of bleach and astringents burned her nose. It would take a while before she smelled anything but that. The second door she reached was locked. No marks on it, not even a nameplate. And no windows to give her a peek on the other side.

With a pair of tools slipped from the false seam on her jacket, she had the lock open in under thirty seconds. Old tumbler lock, circa mid-century, and the least amount of security ever. The lack of something more left her disquieted.

Was this all some wild goose chase Tatiana left as a joke? She’d indicated it was a widow’s trap. She’d also implied they were still recovering from trying to catch her.

But the absolute _emptiness_ belied any truth in those statements.

No lights came on, and the interior beyond the door felt bigger. Standing still, she listened. Big rooms felt different from small ones. Higher ceilings increased a sense of chill. Silence filled the spaces differently. The room stretched off into the blackness, somehow growing even darker than where she stood only a step away from the hall.

The dread in her gut demanded she withdraw.

Now.

A tingle at the base of her spine crawled upward. It was too quiet…wait.

Not quiet.

Muted.

“Wow it’s creepy dark in here,” she called out, testing the echoes of the room. Only her voice didn’t carry. Nothing escaped even as her mouth moved and her vocal chords vibrated. Putting a hand to her throat, she tried again, “That’s…weird.”

Nothing.

What the fuck?

She eased her weight backward. The door still open, her free hand planted against it.

A double tap to her bracelet…

“The itsy bitsy spider…” She sang, but the guys said nothing. Her comm was still behind her ear. A brush of her fingers against it, mild heat. It was active.

But sound didn’t exist in the room.

Stay or go?

Clint would say go.

So would Steve.

Tony might, but like her, he’d want to know what the hell?

James?

Even calling him aloud by a name she’d associated with him in her head after learning the Winter Soldier’s real identity didn’t give her any greater insight.

Tactically? Staying in the dark muted room with zero intel on what the hell was going on was a bad idea.

A terrible one.

Back into the hall, then the stairs. She could find out what they were doing. The silence numbed her, insulating her to others in the room and it was a split-second between realizing if she couldn’t hear herself speak, she couldn’t hear anything else.

The force of air moving brushed her cheek and she ducked. Instinct kicked in and she lashed out. Her leg swept another’s and they tumbled away from her. The door closed behind her, a hush of air but no clink.

Blinded.

Deafened.

Muted.

Deprived of her primary senses, she was left with her senses of touch, scent, taste…and her training. The air rippled and she brought her arm up, block, punch. Block. A blow landed, but she’d already spun to avoid it so it glanced off her ear rather than strike solid against her skull. Twist, fingers locking. The sense of bones breaking, the lack of sound stripped away the humanity.

The Red Room had done this. Blindfolded, she’d fought her way through a room of combatants. Blasted by sound, obliterating even her thoughts—she’d relied on her skills and muscle memory. The body struggling against her tore away, and took some of her hair with them.

Scalp stinging, she kept her guard up and stilled. Even the thump of her heart echoed too loudly within. Sniper breathing settled the racing pulse to manageable levels and allowed her to stretch her senses to the world around her. She didn’t rush into the darkness or try to move. With her senses limited, it was better to let them come for her.

And if they were coming for her, they had to be able to see her.

The rush of air pulled her to the left, and she blocked one blow and took another to the stomach. Folding into it, she flipped over the arm, and got it into a controlled lock, then twisted to slam her elbow back and up. The blow numbed her to her fingertips, but the glass crunched. Copper scented the air.

She’d drawn blood.

They tried to yank free, but twisted again and shifted her weight to pull them off balance. Release, pivot, and she landed a roundhouse kick against where she thought their face had to be.

Her boot slammed into something much harder than skin and bone. If not for the coppery scent, she’d worry that she was fighting a robot and after Ultron…

A shudder wrenched through her but it didn’t pull her focus off. Adrenaline surged as she landed, and twisted again. This time she slammed her hand out, palm forward and hit flesh.

Breasts.

Her competitor was a woman.

Following the first blow, she landed a second and then caught a fist against her face. Pain flowered against her mouth, and she cut her cheek on her teeth. The copper flavor filled her mouth and she fought the urge to head butt. Whatever the hell they had on their face—night goggles perhaps? Infrared?—would hurt her more than her head hitting them would harm them.

Another blow, but it only whiffed through the air. They’d gotten away. Her nose itched, but the scent of copper in her mouth masked the blood she’d drawn on them. Oh, the astringent of the bleach was gone.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to not try and see in the dark. Stilling, she waited. No sound. Her breathing calmed. She swallowed some blood with her spit. Then she caught it, the faintest notes of orchids.

Tatiana.

Her mind supplied the name automatically, and she curled her fingers into fists. Moving silently was a skill she’d honed through the decades, and despite the lack of sound she didn’t rely on it to mask her presence. Aware of the air currents, she moved slowly and deliberately, tracking the scent.

It was almost a surprise when body heat and the intensity of the orchid scent betrayed her nearness to Tanya. A part of her wanted to demand why. She’d helped her escape, and hadn’t betrayed her in recent memory. Sure they’d betrayed each other in training—what choice did they have? It had never been personal. Afterward, after Leviathan failed and the Red Room washed its hands of her—Natasha had let her go and reported her extermination.

A second chance to have a life that she herself would never get. It was what Natasha had truly believed at the time.

No, they would never be friends. But they need not be enemies.

Uncertain of whether Tatiana faced away or toward her, Nat struck forward with both fists in a series of blows toward her midsection. If she hit her belly, she’d knock the air from her and if it was her back…kidney blows hurt like a bitch.

The world seemed to shift after she landed the fourth blow—against her kidneys—Tatiana struck with elbows, twisting to one side then darting to the other. The strike against Nat’s ear made her see stars, and a wave of hot fire bloomed at her earlobe.

A cut maybe.

Or just a bruise.

Uppercut. Block. Kick. Block. Slashing hand. Block.

Her eye teared repeatedly, salt mingling with copper to perfume the air.

She blocked a flurry of kicks until she could feel her left arm, and she had the timing down. The next one came and she took the blow to her shoulder, latching her hands around the ankle and whirling, torqueing the ankle with all of her weight as she twisted until she bent it in a direction it was not meant to turn.

The lack of agonizing crying out threw her, but she flowed with her training, maintaining her hold and bringing her pained elbow down on the softness behind the knee.

Then they were on the floor, and she had Tatiana in a headlock. The weight of her chin dug into Nat’s forearm as she locked her arms around her head. She tightened her forearm to a sleeper hold. Pressure on the carotid arteries, and she counted it in her head. A part of her still didn’t want to kill Tatiana and right now she might not even have realized it was Nat she fought.

Normally she wouldn’t allow herself to dabble in such wishful thinking, but Tatiana survived the Red Room. If Nat killed her…just no. She wouldn’t be drawn back there, wouldn’t make Tanya another bloody statistic.

The woman went limp in her grasp and light flooded the room, blinding her. Sound punched the air like a blow and her head protested the sudden cacophony. Around her screens lit up and she saw a thousand pictures of her at all ages and on different missions.

Feedback shrieked along her comm unit and she barely made out the distorted shouts from the guys. Then the images on the screens vanished leaving only a live, bird’s eye feed through the scope of a rifle.

Wanda.

Nat’s heart stopped.

“Kill her, Natalia. Or we’ll kill this one. Your choice.” The voice from the PA. At least she thought it was, though her ringing ears kept her from pinpointing his accent.

The scope narrowed in on Wanda’s face, she had her hair pulled back into a pony tail while she wore a snapback to shield her face from the sun. A smile graced her lips as she looked down at the…tree she was planting. It was a warm, sunny day and the light glinted off the streaks in her hair, though the gold highlights were much lower and in need of refreshing. Apparently she hadn’t touched them up since the last time Nat saw her.

“Did you hear me Natalia?” Impatience, but also amusement. “Or do you need more incentive?”

The screen split and the sniper angle showed Sam, this time he was seated among others outside a hospital like setting. The VA?

Her gaze flicked to Wanda. Sunlight.

Sam. High sun. Midday.

Wanda was in Sokovia. It was only an hour’s time difference from Budapest.

That was not a live feed.

High sun. Sam was in the States. It was nearly one in the morning when she’d made entry. It would be evening on the East Coast and late day on the West.

Also not a live feed.

“No,” she answered, dropping Tanya and rising to her feet. Her eyes still watered from the light, but at least the sound had stopped. The room she stood in was warehouse huge with concrete columns scattered here and there. The floor was wood, like their old practice rooms, and there were even mirrors on the far wall…and a balance barre.

Her stomach lurched. Flicking her gaze back to the screen, the images changed.

Steve and Natasha at the cemetery when she brought him the Winter Soldier’s file.

Natasha with Tony in Monaco.

She and Clint defending a bus full of passengers in New York.

She and Bruce at some Stark party, he’d hidden in a corner and she’d gotten him to relax and laugh.

An image of the airport battle.

“You have been so busy, Natasha. Tell me…what if I shot this one?”

The image turned to night scope, but she didn’t need it to recognize James. He was also armed, sniper rifle targeting the building. But he was calm, expressionless…and she’d been out of touch for the duration of the time she’d been in this room.

They wouldn’t have held position. In fact, she half expected them to blow the doors off any moment.

Fine, if her tormentor wanted to put a show—she’d give him one. She shrugged. “Is there a reason you want _me_ to do your dirty work?”

A soft chuckle. “Oh, I have missed you Natalia. You were always the coldest of us all.”

“Can’t say the feeling is mutual, but if you’re angling for a reunion—just name the time and the place.” Her face hurt and her right eye had nearly swollen shut. It would hamper her peripheral, and her hearing was still a little off. A sweep of her surroundings told her she was still alone. There was no sound outside of the building.

Had the guys made entry and gone up? It would have been the natural assumption.

Especially after she went quiet. Or her vitals went crazy. She tapped her bracelet carefully covering the action by locking one hand over her wrist. Would it send the signal? Her comm hadn’t uttered a single sound since the feedback left her ears ringing.

“I would, if I thought you were as eager to see me as I am to see you,” he sounded almost disappointed. “But you will be soon enough.”

The images on his little slideshow from hell continued to page through her history. Just how long had this guy been watching her? He’d caught most of the team. There was a close up from where she’d sat on a bench in the aftermath of the Geneva bombing. T’Challa was a couple of feet away.

She’d been shaking so badly in that moment and trying to get her bearings back. The force of the blast, the reverberations of it, continued to hammer away at her sense of safety and for several, long horrifying moments as the smoke and debris filled the air she’d been in the bunker with Steve as the world caught fire.

“How is that?” She wanted to keep him talking, parse what he wanted, and try to glue the pieces together. The question of _why do I know your voice_ died unspoken on her tongue. Instead she added, “You’ve never been shy before.”

Silence.

Then a slow clap.

“Nicely played Natalia. But you don’t remember me…no matter how much you’d like me to think otherwise.”

Nat snorted, and rolled her head from side to side. Her knuckles were bloodied and scabbing already and her fresh bruises ached. “Why would I care what you think one way or another?” Clearly they were not friends.

“Because my love,” he said, his voice slowing and almost stroking over that last syllable. “If you did, you would be so angry right now.”

“I don’t get angry,” she said with a smile. “If you knew me half as well as you’re pretending…you would know that.” Anger served nothing. Anger made her weak. Anger blinded to what was around her. Unlike Bruce, she was never angry.

Another laugh, then it cut off abruptly. “I fear our time is drawing to a close. Kill her Natalia. If you let Tanya walk away, she will come for you again. She let you go at the club, but only because she needed you to escape Alexei.”

“Tanya can take care of herself.” The rest of that was just noise. A vibration beneath her feet was her only warning before the door behind her exploded apart and Tony plowed into the room with James right behind him.

“The Soldier and the Iron Man. You are adding to your collection Natalia.” He’d stuck to English for most of the conversation. Relief blanketed James’ expression before his eyes narrowed at the wide room and the images populating all the screens.

Tony alighted next to her, and he glanced down at Tanya and then up. Probably scanning. Steve was at the door, but no Clint…he was probably watching their exit. It would be foolish for all of them to make entry with so many unknowns in play.

“There he is, Captain America. Please…join us.” The madman on the speakers actually sounded delighted. “So many toys for the Widow to play with…and you do keep quite a collection. Is this love Natalia?”

“Love is for children,” rolled off her tongue, an automatic response and it amused her tormentor. His chuckle rumbled through the speakers.

James paused only long enough to bind Tanya’s hands, then he took a position next to her as Steve studied her, and his lips tightened in disapproval.

Yeah, she got into a fight. She wasn’t apologizing for it yet.

“Okay funny guy, you know who we are. It’s rude not to introduce yourself.” Tony commented.

“You are not my guest, Iron Man—or should I say Mr. Stark.” Images of Pepper flooded the screens. “And don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Kind of partial to where I am,” Tony replied, his voice droll as he refused to rise to the bait.

“I’d ask you the same question Captain, but I already know the answer.” Peggy Carter. Everywhere. All different ages. Hell they’d even gotten her wedding photos. But they blew up one from the funeral—then the one of her hugging Steve. “You didn’t even wait for her to be cold in the ground. Not such the honorable man, are you?”

Steve lifted his chin, then glanced at her. “You ready to go Nat?” Ignoring their tormentor. “The air in here is getting stale.”

“Captain, your disdain wounds me…or it would if I cared. Still, Natalia it is good you surround yourself with such strength. But you do seem to be missing one from your collection.” The voice tsked and the images changed.

Clint.

It was real time and he was unconscious, his arms bound and his shoulder bleeding. The lighting, the night—even the clothes he wore and the glimpse of the bandage under the sleeve cut of his shirt.

They had Clint.

“Tony…”

“On it.” And Tony blasted right out through the wall.

Steve clenched his fists.

Another chuckle. “I told you, you would be angry enough soon. Your hawk is alive…for now.” A hand appeared in the image, a blade extended as it drew a bloodied slice down his arm. “Do not make me wait long for our reunion, love. Or he—like your soldier—will need a metal arm.”

Then the images cut out.

And the room plunged into darkness. Steve clamped a hand on her shoulder, then James had her other arm.

“We’re going,” Steve said, tugging her toward the hole Tony had blasted in the wall. It was so close, and yet for the duration of her time in the darkness it had seemed miles away.

“Kill me,” Tanya groaned, and James pivoted. A weapon in his hand, already extended as if he would oblige her request. Nat pulled away from Steve and put her hand on the gun, pushing it down.

“No.”

Breathless and pained, Tanya fought to her knees with her hands bound behind her. “Kill me or I’ll find you and kill you.”

“No, Tanya,” Natasha whispered.

“You don’t understand Natalia…I _have_ to kill you.” There was a manic note in her voice.

“You don’t understand, Tatiana. I don’t _care_. Leave her, James.” Trusting him to do as she asked, she returned to Steve and strode toward the exit. Tanya was the past, whatever grief or aggravation she took with Natasha—fine, they could deal with it later. Or maybe she would get over it and go back into her exile as she had for the last few decades.

“I’m going to find you,” Tanya screamed. “I will.”

“Natalia,” James worried, but she was on the street and it was as quiet, damp, and empty as it had been on her way in.

“It doesn’t matter,” Natasha muttered. “Has Tony found Clint?” She touched her fingers to her comm, but she got nothing. “My comm is out.”

“We know,” Steve said, a steadying hand on her arm and his shield on the other. “We heard the feedback.” Then he hesitated as Tanya screamed out obscenities in Russian. “You sure about her?”

“I don’t know what they did to her…and maybe I shouldn’t leave her in there, but she can get free. Those zip ties wouldn’t hold me long. We need to find Clint.” She shunted all nonessential thoughts away. It was Russia all over again. A phone call.

_Tasha…Barton’s been compromised._

The only thing that mattered was getting him back.

Her tormentor on the PA was wrong though.

She wasn’t angry.

He’d only given her a mission.

One she would not fail.

Even before Tony joined them at the quinjet she knew the news was bad. He opened his hand and set down Clint’s comm, and his weapons. “There was nothing. Not even a sign of a struggle.”

Helmet off, Tony stared at her. “Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need to do better than that, Red.” He wasn’t quite glaring at her, but concern rippled through his words. Concern for her.

Concern for Clint.

“Is he a threat to Pepper?”

“I don’t know…I would assume yes. He has eyes on all of us. He had video of Wanda, and Sam. Wanted me to kill Tanya or he would kill them.” She angled to sit in the pilot’s seat, but Steve halted her with a hand on her arm, and then he had ice pressed to her face.

Oh.

She was still bleeding.

“Tony…you should go back to Pepper. Keep an eye on her.”

“Pepper is going to be fine,” Tony grit out between his teeth. “Friday’s got eyes on her right now.”

Well that was good.

“Natalia,” James had a hold of her hand and he was eyeing her knuckles. “Why did you go in there?”

“I was searching. He had some kind of dampening field on the whole thing. No lights. No sound. Nothing.” But she was only half-focusing on them. Steve cleaned the cut on her cheek, and then one on her lip. Wincing, she clung to the stinging sensation. She needed the clarity.

He wanted Natasha to kill Tanya? Why?

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Tony had stepped out of his armor, and he moved into the pilot’s seat. He got them up in the air. “She attacked you, right?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t like we had a conversation. She was already neutralized. I didn’t need to kill her.”

With a frown, Steve studied her. “Not even to save Wanda or Sam?”

“That was a play. The video looked real time. It wasn’t.” She went to pull her hand from James, but he refused to release her and then he popped her fingers back into place one at a time.

Grinding her teeth, she endured it. She hadn’t even realized she dislocated them.

“He has eyes on our people…probably has for a while. The pictures he put up—some of them date back years. He had one of me and Tony from Monaco.”

“Huh,” Tony grunted.

“And Peggy’s funeral,” Cap reminded her, and then sank down to sit next to her, holding the ice firmly to her eye as he checked the side of her head. “Your ear is bleeding.”

“They feel like it,” she commented. “I took a couple of blows. It’s fine. It’ll heal.”

“You have had to heal a lot, Natalia,” James chided her, and his expression turned severe. “Did you recognize his voice this time?”

“No,” she answered, still irritated. “We need to head for Volograd, then Moscow…”

“That’s not a good idea,” Tony argued.

“It’s the only idea. He took Clint. Those are our only other leads.” Russia. It all came back to Russia.

“And he wants to pull you right into his trap, Red. You keep walking into it. Who the hell is this guy to you?”

“At the moment, a dead man walking.” Her voice went ice cold to match the frigid winter encasing her soul.

“Nat,” Steve pulled her attention, the concern in his blue eyes actually hurt. The past kept slicing at the people around her, and her tormentor had cut into Steve even if he’d refused to respond to it. Losing Peggy had hurt him deeply, because he’d lost her twice. To imply he’d…

Brushing her fingers against his cheek, she went to work compartmentalizing the data she’d acquired to study once she’d settled them. “I’m fine, Steve. But this is who I am. He took Clint. He wants me to find him. He wants me there. This was his insurance that I wouldn’t let anything intervene.”

“All the more reason you should not go,” James said quietly. “Clint would not wish you to throw yourself into danger to save him.”

She almost laughed. “James, Clint and I have been saving each other for years. It’s what we do. He’s probably already got a clock running.” If he was conscious…if he wasn’t bleeding…if they hadn’t already killed him after planting their seed to lure her in.

“Clint didn’t want you going to Russia,” Steve reminded her as he pulled the ice away to check her eye. A trickle of heat slipped down her cheek. Fuck, had she gotten a cut there, too? Hopefully the eye itself wasn’t damaged. She could heal a lot of things, but she didn’t think losing an eye was one of them.

“Hell he didn’t want you coming to Budapest,” Tony commented. “I’ve got a flight path for Volgograd, and Friday’s working on satellite images for the location. We’re going to hit it like a team this time, no more insane spy hijinks. These bastards want you alone, they aren’t getting it.”

Humor rippled through her and she choked on a laugh that carried no humor. “Clint’s never going to forgive me.”

“Don’t say that doll, that man _would_ cut off his arm for you.” James firm assessment meant well, but the dark humor in it fell flat at the moment.

“It’s not that,” she admitted, and leaned her head back and took control of the ice from Steve. She pressed it to her eye and held it there. “Clint hates Budapest. This is just going to give him another strike against it.”

“We’re going to find him, Nat,” Steve told her, but the grave worry in his eyes as he stared at her didn’t confirm the belief.

If only she had a name to put to the voice. A name or a face…something other than the sense of knowing. And he called her his love?

A shudder worked its way up her spine. The nauseatingly possessive notes in his voice…

“What is it?” Steve hadn’t missed her reaction. Nor James from the way he stared at her. God the intensity in his stare grew more unnerving every day. He said he _felt_ like he knew her. As she did him. They had the one tape to confirm it…and the others hadn’t featured him at all. Not in a single training or surveillance tape and yet—they’d hopscotched across time leaving out huge chunks. Just like her memory.

Was James remembering? The file suggested his mind would repair itself, the longer he was away from cryo, and without the constant interference of the mind wipes. But he’d had two years to remember…and there was so much damage to heal.

Did she even want to know _what_ he remembered if she couldn’t?

“Just something he said…when he wasn’t telling me to kill Tatiana.” A widow’s trap. That room was definitely a widow’s trap. The blurring of the senses, the isolation, the danger? He could have had a hundred men in there and she wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have heard them breathing or seen their movement in the shadows.

“What did he say?” Tony stood just behind Steve’s shoulder, concern etched into his face.

“Just that he’d missed me very much and then he called me the coldest of us all.” Not an unfair assessment on the last. She needed the coldness right now, or she’d be screaming. Losing her mind wouldn’t have gotten Clint back from Loki, it wouldn’t get him back from her past either. “He didn’t buy my act when I pretended to remember him.” She was self-aware enough to accept the sting in that. “Called me his love…” Distaste twisted her lips. “Said if I really remembered him, I’d be furious.”

James’ expression closed off and his eyes went distant. Steve and Tony wore almost matching expressions of incredulity.

“Red, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry. Not even when you threw Latin in my face…which reminds me, that phrase did not mean go home or I’d be collected.” The stab at nostalgia pulled a smile to her lips. Trust Tony to bring that up now.

“Tony’s right,” Steve said it, then a hint of a smile softened his mouth as if he heard what he’d said. Tony almost crowed, but then seemed to restrain himself. “You don’t get angry. Chitauri. Loki. Hell…SHIELD and Nick lying to you about being dead. You never got angry. You didn’t even get angry at me when I didn’t listen to you after Geneva.”

“Anger doesn’t help.” She pulled the ice away. “Anger makes you—impulsive, rash, inappropriate. You forget to think and you act on your passions.”

Tony smirked. “It makes you us.”

“Yes,” she said, almost wryly. “You two do anger very well.” Then she glanced at James and his expression remained unreadable. “You’ve gone very quiet.”

“Love implies an emotional connection. You do not remember who this person is.” A thread of irritation betrayed his flat tone. “Yet you feel like you know him.”

“Recognize,” Natasha corrected him. “His voice is familiar. But that could be the Russian or my imagination.”

“But he believes he has an emotional connection with you.” The last part seemed to really irritate James.

“The guy _has_ an emotional connection,” Tony corrected. “It’s called obsession. Not very cool these days, and stalkers are not to be humored. Though collecting Russians with crushes on you seems to be your new thing, Red.”

She groaned, and gave him a bruised middle finger. Then she transferred the ice from her eye to her hand.

“I’m not Russian,” James said flatly. “And I’m not threatening her or trying to get her to kill people.”

“Easy there _50 First Dates_ ,” Tony held up his hands. “It’s just a comment. Nat’s adorable, in that prickly might stab you in your eye if you cuddled her too close way, but that’s hot.” The last he said to her. “Taming the untameable is sexy as hell.”

“Tony,” Steve sighed, but there was almost a smirk at the end of it.

“Et tu, Rogers?” she murmured.

“You know what Romanoff…yeah. I get the attraction after all.” He smoothed hair away from her cheek, then frowned. “Did she tear out some of your hair?” His fingers went to a raw spot just behind her ear and she sighed.

“Yeah, it’ll grow back. Might have to get it cut.” They were a few hours from Volgograd. “We need to find Alexei.”

“We should have brought Tatiana to interrogate.” James straightened and if they weren’t in the air, it wouldn’t have surprised if he’d stalked back out to get her.

“She would never talk,” Natasha reminded him.

“I can be persuasive.” Brutally so, no doubt.

“She wouldn’t talk, because no amount of torture would make me talk.” Weariness swept through her. She didn’t want to sit idle, she wanted her laptop in front of her. A dozen computer searches running. All available cell phones on the planet tuned in to run facial recognition.

Fuck she wished she had a damn hellicarrier.

She could call Nick.

No guarantee he would answer. Hell he hadn’t returned her last couple of messages before everything went to hell in Germany.

If only she had a name…

“You should get some rest,” Steve suggested, concern in his eyes again. But he hadn’t pulled away and it took her a minute to realized she still clasped his hand. Offering him a little squeeze, she managed a smile.

“I wouldn’t sleep. I need to figure this out. We’re missing a huge puzzle piece and it’s in here.” She tapped her skull with a grimace. “Locked away in a vault I don’t apparently have a key for, and I need to blow the doors off.” She needed to find Clint.

Now.

Steve squeezed her hand lightly, then returned the ice to her eye. Tony paced as he glanced at a couple of screens. Data scrolled on them. Friday likely commencing searches to try and find Clint.

But they’d have Clint zipped up tight. They needed to find who had him. Or at least some image of the people who took him.

Tony would look for that, she didn’t have to tell him. If only she could do as detailed a search on her brain. Wait…

“Tony,” she said, snagging his attention. The deep brown of his eyes did nothing to mask his concern as he looked at her, eyebrows raised. God, she couldn’t believe she was about to say this. “I need BARF.”

“You’re going to be sick?” Steve glanced around, but it was James who thrust a small pail at her.

Lips quirking, Tony seemed to barely refrain from actual laughter. “BARF is a program I’ve been working on…it helps flesh out and confront memories by hijacking the hippocampus. Kind of mind reading, and letting you play with the memories.”

“No,” James said, his voice like a gunshot. “You will not mess with Natalia’s mind.”

Yeah. James didn’t make those decisions for her. She kept her gaze on Tony. “Tell me about it.” When James opened his mouth to protest, she shook her head and ignored the swimming pain the abrupt gesture earned her. “It’s _my_ mind James. If I have the information in my head then we need to crack it open and get it out.”

No one else would get hurt because of her past.

No one.

Mutiny flared in his eyes and he looked past her to Steve—who wore a similar expression. Tony folded his arms, and didn’t look eager to share.

“Guys…” Nat blew out a breath. “Clint’s out there. We don’t have time to debate this. For now, I just need to know how it works.”

“If it hurts you?” Steve wanted to protect her, it positively rolled off him in waves. The fierceness in his eyes made her swallow against the overwhelming desire to comfort him.

“If it saves any of you? Then it’s worth it.”

Clint had been taken.

The three men in front of her were all targets.

Because of _her_.

“Tony?”

He sighed, meeting her gaze. Resistance in every line of his expression. Despite having made the offer, the last few days had apparently changed his mind.

“Please?”

The single word sent a flicker through his eyes, and his shoulders dropped as he nodded.

“Friday…bring up the schematics and the details on the BARF tests. God do I really need to fix that acronym.”


	37. How do we do this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha digs into the past, giving the guys their first look inside the Red Room and uncovering her first meetings with Alexei and the Soldier.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

_How do we do this?_

Natasha

 

“Binarily augmented retro-framing hijacks the hippocampus…” Tony had tried to explain this before, but they’d been knee deep in emotional territory.

Now they were in the weeds.

“Why that area? And hijacking? Does it take control of her mind?” Hostility edged James’ voice, and his fists kept clenching.

“No.” The sigh rimming the word bespoke of a patience Tony rarely exhibited. The fact he even attempted at the moment in reaction to someone he was more than reasonably compromised by settled the discord in Nat’s gut. “For the moment, let’s assume I’m not planning to hurt Nat…”

“…let’s not,” James argued. “You’re psychological profiles displays compulsive behavior, prone to self-destructive tendency, and textbook narcissism…”

“James!” Nat’s admonishment collided with Steve’s. “Bucky!”

The super soldier at her side clasped her hand in his, and they both stared at James. With an exasperated grunt and a scowl, James crossed his arms. Unhappiness radiated off of him.

“Just listen,” Natasha told him, meeting his gaze and holding it. The coolness in his blue eyes betrayed nothing, but finally he nodded. Leaning her head back, Nat looked at Tony. “Sorry about the profile.”

“You weren’t wrong…about all of it.” Tony said with far more graciousness than any of them deserved at the moment. The flight had been edged in verbal knives to the point they should all be bleeding. “…long term memory is stored in the cerebral cortex…think of it as the hard drive. The hippocampus is a processor that helps store memories, but also accesses them…”

Her head hurt. As he described the process, Friday assisted with holo display frames.

“…you can see here on the scan, when BARF is engaged,” he actually managed to not smirk when he said it this time. “It stimulates the hippocampus. When we focus our attention on a particular task or problem, the nucleus basalis, a deeply-nestled region of the brain's dentate gyrus, secretes a substance called acetylcholine. Acetylcholine triggers the hippocampus to hold on to the memories being formed. The more we focus, the more we remember.”

The words blurred for a moment, but the basics of neuroscience were there. “Like a computer with corrupted memory…you’re defragging the hard drive.” The hard drive in this case being her brain—was that even possible? “How does it work without chemical intervention?” Even the question sent slivers of ice to burrow into her spine. Lances of frigid chill stiffening over the raw and vulnerable places.

“One—defragging a hard drive just puts all the fragments into the most contiguous order by eliminating the dead space. Two—as much as we want to associate the brain with a computer, brains don’t work that way. By focusing on a challenging task for a sufficient period of time we encourage the brain to devote more resources to the brain functions being tested—in this case, specifically your memory and accessing long-term associations.” Tony’s hands moved as he spoke, sliding images across the holo screen with more brain scans. Each one illuminating stimulated pathways. “When we’re targeting neurogenesis here, we can actually help guide what we’re remembering—it takes some fine tuning, but success at a challenging task creates a sense of achievement and satisfaction, triggering the release of dopamine—the "happy" chemical. Acetylcholine and Dopamine  _together_  stimulate new neural growth—in this case neurogenesis and brain plasticity.”

It sounded deliciously simple.

Almost too simple.

“Most brains can’t heal the damage done to them, we don’t—we don’t develop replacement neural cells like we do liver cells, for example. Barnes is different—the serum he received from Zola is theoretically helping him to repair the physical damage done to his brain. Hence accessing formally closed neural pathways.” Tony scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’d assume Steve’s works the same way or better since his serum was the ideal Erskine wanted to achieve.”

“But mine is an early version, and we don’t know if it works the same way…actually we don’t have to really speculate about that. It most likely doesn’t,” Natasha concluded.

“You can’t be that certain,” Steve squeezed her hand in his gentle grip. “It’s taking Bucky time…”

“Cap,” she cut him off, but kept her tone even. He didn’t deserve rancor or her impatience. “James was in cryo and they kept wiping him…I’ve been away from the Red Room and their control for decades. If my memory were going to self-repair, it would have happened by now.”

“Would it?” Tony asked, lifting his eyebrows. “You worked for Hydra for years and didn’t know it. You’re one of the smartest and most observant people I know. I can’t see you missing the long con right in front of you.”

“That’s a terrifically horrifying thought.” Fear flooded her system with adrenaline and she had to exert every ounce of discipline to stay in her seat.

“I’m just saying, if anyone knew what kind of asset you were, and that you had triggers or ways to be controlled, don’t you think they would have exercised it to keep you under their thumb?” Poor Tony, he almost sounded apologetic.

Frankly, if they had…the chair in the bank vault…they’d found a chair there. Alexander Pierce had the entire area sealed and had control of it for over a decade.

Maybe more.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, pulling herself free from Steve and walking away from all three of them. The quinjet wasn’t huge and didn’t allow for a lot space, but there was a storage area, that also had a small cot in it and a sink. She diverted into the second isolated space. Bathrooms weren’t always readily available in the field, and this was as close as they got on the jet.

She made it to the toilet in time to throw up. It was mostly bile. The act made her face pound as blood rushed to her cheeks. Isolate the distressing emotions. Internalize and then compartmentalize. Emotions made a person sloppy. Fear was only useful if it motivated. Anger prevented coherent thinking.

Rationalize.

Rising, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pressed the button to flush the waste. Staring at the mirror, her bruised face seemed a metaphor for her life. Battered. Bruised. Marked.

She still went on.

_“She's disabling security protocols and dumping all the secrets onto the Internet.” Alexander Pierce answered as though he were still in control._

_The sickness of the joke—he was one of SHIELD’s most respected members. The secretary. He lead by example. “Including Hydra’s,” she reminded him as she continued decrypting the security protocols. She could do this work in her sleep, and every punch of her fingers against the keyboard hammered another nail into the coffin of SHIELD._

**_“_ ** _And SHIELD's. If you do this, none of your past is gonna remain hidden. Are you sure you're ready for the world to see you as you really are?”_

_Who was she really? “Are you?”_

_She had no place in this world. Dumping her files wouldn’t change it._

The chair had been in those files.

Had it actually been in hers? Or had she only seen it when she’d cracked his private server.

Had Pierce put her in the chair?

During her debrief?

After?

When she’d run missions with Hawkeye?

During assignments to medical?

After New York?

Twisting, she dry heaved at the toilet. Nothing came out. She was a shell. A vessel. Ready to be whatever they poured in.

Running water in the sink, she rinsed out her mouth. After she splashed some on her face. It took her another minute to stitch together her composure. She wouldn’t hide away. She couldn’t afford it.

She couldn’t call Laura or Lila or Coop and tell them Clint was never coming home.

She wouldn’t.

He had time to fix things in his marriage. To reclaim his life.

She wasn’t losing him.

For a minute, she closed her eyes. What if Clint hadn’t been real? What if all of this? The missions? The camaraderie? What if it was another manufactured back-story?

No. That would require tampering with too many people.

Unless all of this was just a dream, some hijacked brain fantasy.

Jerking her mind away from that path, she pulled open the door and met Steve’s concerned gaze. He had taken a position against the hull, waiting for her. Straightening, he held out a hand. Grasping it, she let him pull her forward and she all but collapsed against him and trusted he wouldn’t let her fall. The cage of his arms closing around her offered a shield. Anything coming for her would have to come through him.

The problem was, these people seemed willing to do that.

“They have Clint,” she murmured against his chest, the roughness of his uniform armor a familiar comfort.

“I know,” he said gently. “We’re going to get him back.”

“Steve…what if they were altering me all along? What if…” She almost didn’t want to ask this, but… “What if I’m really not this person? I always said the truth wasn’t all things to all people and neither am I…maybe I’m not even who I thought I was.” The certainty of her training, the absolute control, and the crushing need to stand on her own two feet…what if it was just programming?

 _28 dancers in the Bolshoi…_ The performances. The assassinations. The freedom.

“You’re real,” Steve told her, a fierceness in his eyes that demanded she get on board with the program. He believed with his whole heart and soul. That beautiful idealism of his, so untarnished and shiny. He’d gone into the ice a hero—and come out so much better than the world around him. She’d plodded through the years, and carried every ounce of their grime and filth.

“I need to try this thing.”

“If Tony can get it all together before we get to Volgograd. But you aren’t going to want to wait…”

Hell no, she didn’t want to wait. They had Clint. “No. We punch in, and wing it.”

“As a team,” he reminded her firmly.

“You know, Red,” Tony said from just behind her and she twisted to see him leaning against the bulkhead, James just a couple of steps behind him and to the right. “It occurs to me whoever these jackasses are. They’ve really pissed off the wrong people.”

Leaning into Steve, she nodded slowly. But it still wasn’t anger coiling in her gut. No it was tension and anticipation. “Do you have what you need to make it work here? Or do we need to go somewhere?” That would be the final arbiter. If they had to return to the states…they just didn’t have that kind of time.

“I can make it work,” he told her. “Right now if you want. It won’t be ideal and we may have to massage it a little. Just tell me what you want.”

His gaze flicked upward, but she didn’t turn to try and decipher whatever communication passed between the two men. The tension in the air was all hers, and whatever Tony had found in Steve’s eyes apparently settled him. James, however, studied her and the concern vibrating off him was both sweet and more than a little unsettling.

That knowing—it was like something in her recognized him even if she couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She would do this whether it was safe or not. The idea of anyone messing with her head made her skin crawl, and frankly she’d rather eat a bullet. But…

For Clint?

They could scrape her clean. Clint held out his hand and offered her a chance at a new life, one where he’d given her a family, and one where she’d been able to meet and be a part of the Avengers. She would die for him, she would kill for him—she would destroy her sense of self.

The reality was, she could get back more than just the identities of her faceless tormentor. She might get James back, or at least understand who he was to her finally.

It could cost, Steve. What they had was so new, and so…tentative. Their timing could be better. And while he had to know the risk, he wasn’t shying away. Of course, he wasn’t. He was Captain America. But more he was Steve Rogers and Steve, she’d learned, didn’t know how to back down from a fight.

“We have four to four and a half hours to Volgograd. What can we do in that time?” Decided, she straightened and though she didn’t pull away from Steve, she stood on her own feet.

“You eat something, and hydrate. When I was first testing this, I got the worst damn dehydration headaches.” Tony extended a hand to her and she clasped it and let him tug her from Steve. “While you do that, you sit right here.” He nudged her to the seat and then he pulled out the triangle arc reactor he wore over his shirt. “I’m going to put this on you and we’re going to code it to you…I need a complete brain scan.”

James fidgeted, but Tony wasn’t finished.

“Completely harmless, and it’s going to be coded to your authorization only the moment we finish this task. Good?” Though he had to be aware of the dark look on James’ face, Tony didn’t spare him a second glance. Steve, however, gripped his best friend’s shoulder. For a moment, James leaned into the contact.

Good. They had each other.

“Possible side effects or concerns?” She took a long drink of water. 

“Well, nothing is one hundred percent safe and we don’t know exactly what we’re working with here, so…sixty forty odds sound good?”

“Depends are those for or against?” But she nodded regardless.

“Would you believe me if I said the answer is both?” Tony answered with a hint of a smirk.

“It’s a good thing I trust you, Stark.” She took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and then fell into sniper breathing. Slow. Steady. Calming.

Eyes warm, Tony pressed the triangle to her chest just above her breastbone. “I’d totally ruin the moment if I went for the grope right now, wouldn’t I?”

A laugh sputtered out of her and even Steve wore a grin, though his knuckles had whitened on James’ shoulder. Holding him back? Holding on for support?

Maybe both?

Nat smiled at them both. “Buck up soldiers,” she said, then winked. She could do this for them. “I’m about to be Iron Man. It’s going to be fun.”

God, she hoped it would be fun.

“Ahem,” Tony said, checking something on the device. “ _I_ am Iron Man.”

“Hmm. Iron Man was recommended.” The tease made him smirk.

“Keep laughing Red. You ready?”

“Nope,” she told him, dredging up some cheerfulness she really didn’t feel. But she could slip on a role, and no one could afford her falling apart. She drained the water bottle, then crunched it before setting it aside. “But let’s do it anyway. What do I do?”

“Just sit there and look pretty.” He winked, then leaned away. “We’re good Friday, let her rip.”

The armor began to swirl out of the chest piece and crawled along her body, fitting over her torso, her arms, and legs. It was the most unnerving feeling, especially when it slid up her throat, then over her head and the clink as the mask formed and blotted out her vision.

The screens came up—his HUD. Nat didn’t move a muscle. How much of the armor responded to physiological cues and how much of it was verbal. “Maybe I should have asked how do I not fire anything by accident.” She managed it pretty well.

“You figured out how to fire my gauntlet at the party,” Tony told her. “Just don’t use any weapons.”

“Easier said than done,” she challenged. “But all right…this is _weird_.”

“Don’t get attached, Red. Iron Man’s my thing.”

Oh, he could have him. All that power in this suit and it felt like being sealed inside a metal coffin. How the fuck did Tony do this?

“Your respiration is increasing, Ms. Romanoff,” Friday’s voice was almost gentle in her ear. “Please increase the depths of your breath. The suit is equipped with air filtration, and carbon monoxide scrubbers.”

Okay. Good.

“I’m going to begin the brain scan. For the purposes of the scan, I will need to ask you some questions.”

Beyond the HUD she could practically feel the weight of three stares boring down on her. “Okay. Can everyone hear what’s going on?”

“We can,” Tony answered for Friday. “Do you want privacy for it?”

A little hard on a quinjet with two super soldiers and Friday recording everything. “No, I’m fine.”

“Very well, Ms. Romanoff. Please stand by as I initialize…”

She couldn’t really do anything else so she focused on her breathing. The calming effect of sniper breathing, reducing her heart rate, and focusing on simply getting through the next few minutes while distracting herself from the throb in her cheek and around her eye.

“Ms. Romanoff,” Friday’s voice was very soothing. The Irish lilt had always been attractive, but at the moment it was a balm. “Please state your full name.”

“Natalia Alianova Romanova.”

“And your current name.”

“Natasha Romanoff.”

“Your place of birth.”

“Stalingrad.”

“Your favorite color.”

“Blue.”

Someone—definitely Tony—snorted.

“Your favorite drink.”

“Vodka.”

“Your favorite season.”

“Winter.”

“Really?” Steve asked, then muttered, “Sorry.”

“I’m going to give you a series of words, simply say whatever word comes to mind.”

“Yay.”

“I have not begun yet.”

“Okay.”

A strangled laugh, this time James. The hint of a shove, and a thump. Probably James and Steve. She didn’t dare look at them.

“Apple.”

“Computer.”

“Gun.”

“Glock 26.”

“Movie.”

“The Princess Bride.”

“Lunch.”

“Sandwich.”

“Avengers.”

“Family.”

That startled her for a moment, but she licked her suddenly dry lips and bit back a follow up comment.

“Rain.”

“Walk.”

“Music.”

“Dance.”

“Run.”

“Walk.”

“Window.”

“Perch.”

“Pose.”

“Undercover.”

“Robotics.”

“Tony.”

“Battle.”

“Challenge.”

“Love.”

“Love is for children.”

The silence seemed to ratchet up. Maybe she’d imagined them murmuring. But there seemed to be a void of it now.

“Training.”

“Survival.”

“Tomato.”

“Salad.”

Friday bounced all over the place with these.

“Arrow.”

Her heart squeezed. “Clint.”

“Planet.”

“Earth.”

“God.”

“Loki.” A shudder.

“Boots.”

“Mud.” The damp smell tickled her nostrils.

“Angry.”

Her lips twitched. “Bruce.”

“Glass.”

“Wine.” Her mouth was dry.

“Solitary.”

“Safe.”

“New York.”

“Tower.” An image of it backlit by a sunrise flooded her mind.

“Washington D.C.”

Her chest squeezed. “Triskelion.”

“Chair.”

“Terror.”

The words kept coming. Were they going to do this all the way to Russia? How did this help? And yet there was a rhythm to it, one that almost soothed her irritation even as it formed.

“Strength.”

“Freedom.”

“Space.”

“Aliens.” Chitauri spilling through a wormhole. The leviathan bearing down on them. _“That’s my secret Captain. I’m always angry.”_

“Secrets.”

“Lies.”

“Shield.”

“Steve.”

“Sweater.”

“Cold.”

“Grapes.”

“Lucy and Ethel.” It was a ridiculous episode, but she did say whatever came to mind.

“Hammer.”

“Drones.”

“Puzzle.”

“Mystery.”

“Raincoat.”

“Wet.”

“Ballet.”

Flowing into en pointe, toes bleeding, music playing, even as her muscles screamed. “Specialist.”

“Race.”

Ugh. “Monaco.” Helpless to prevent Ivan Vanko’s attack.

She didn’t do helpless.

“Soldier.”

“James.”

“Death.”

“Release.”

That earned another harsh indrawn breath.

“Memory.”

“Flexible.”

“Tactics.”

“Stealth.”

“Endure.”

“Life.”

Another dozen words seemed to lull her. She answered promptly, but even her words lost their crispness. Relaxed seemed to be an odd word, but it fit.

“Red Room.”

_Her eyes jerked open, she hadn’t even realized they closed. She could see the hallway, the grand staircase, and she stood at the base of it with her hand in an older man’s—Ivan. He spoke to a woman—Madame B. They were so big. It was so cold. She wanted to let go of his hand, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t know this place._

_She didn’t want to be here._

_The door behind her was almost as scary as the man holding her hand. She tried to hunch. Make herself invisible._

_A sharp smack against her spine. Pain flared along every nerve ending, lighting her back up. Tears flooded her eyes as she met Madame B’s severe stare. “We do not slouch. We do not snivel. You will stand straight. Do you understand?”_

_No. But the word wouldn’t come out. The woman’s eyes were like twin pits of darkness. Natalia was scared of the dark. She tried to look away because she didn’t want to fall into her eyes._

_“Natalia,” Ivan said, threading his fingers through her hair. “Answer Madame.”_

_“I…” Her lips quivered, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The tears threatened to spill. “I don’t want to.” She stomped her foot._

_“Spirited.” The woman commented, then she struck Natalia across the face so hard she knocked her off her feet. Her hand dragged out of Ivan’s as she bounced against the wooden floor. Blood flooded her mouth. “We do not tolerate spirit here, Natachenka. You will learn your place.”_

_“What…what…what…p-p-p-place?” Her lip hurt, and her face stung, and the words came out on a terrible stutter as the tears splashed free from her eyes._

_“Stand up.” Ivan ordered, and she tried, but her feet slipped. With a huff of impatience, he seized the back of her dress and dragged her up. “Answer, Madame.”_

_But they hadn’t answered her. “I d-d-d-don’t have one.”_

_“No,” Madame agreed. “You do not. Do you understand?”_

_She shook her head, not trusting her terrified stutter._

_Then Madame smile, but it didn’t comfort her. If anything, it terrified her even more. “You will.”_

_Heart racing like a bird’s, she stared up at them as they resumed conversing and ignored her. Natalia glanced at the door again, then Mr. Ivan and Madame. They weren’t paying attention to her._

_Curling her toes in her shoes, she ignored the pinch of them. They were too tight, but she had no others. Her dress was too big, but she had no other dress either. Ivan had taken her jacket when they came in._

_Madame glanced at her again, that cold serpentine look coiling around Natalia as if the darkness itself had come to life._

_No. She didn’t want to be here._

_Turning on her heel, she bolted for the door._

_She never reached it._

_The slam echoed through her. Then the clink of a handcuff closing on her wrist before Madame left her in the cold, empty dormitory._

_Alone._

_With the darkness._

“Natalia!” James’ shout startled her and she blinked hard to find all three men arrayed in front of her. The armor was gone, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Steve had one of her fists in his hand, and James the other. Tony’s eyes were blown wide, and she sagged against their hold and stopped fighting.

“What the hell was that?” She managed to push out. She didn’t know that memory, and yet it was as though it had just happened. Her wrist ached from Ivan’s hold, her lip throbbed, and she could still taste the blood even as cold steel latched around her wrist.

Fumbling, she tugged her hand out of James but he wouldn’t let go.

“Let me go, James…now.” Before the panic crawled all over her. Steve released her, as did James and their hands went up but their gazes remained wary.

Tony had a cut on his cheek. It wasn’t deep, but fresh blood welled from it.

Stroking the bracelet on her arm, she jerked it off and blew out another shuddering breath.

“What. Was. That?”

“Calibrating for BARF,” Tony explained, his gaze watchful and worried. “Series of questions keyed to map neural responses…including a couple of triggers.”

“What triggers?” Her chest felt too tight, and despite the armor having been removed, she could practically feel the steel around her torso.

He studied her for a beat. “Do you believe in love?”

“Love is for children,” she answered reflexively.

Steve blew out a breath, his expression turning pained. “You were right, Tony.”

“Yeah, it comes up and your tone stays _exactly_ the same.” He motioned to a screen, and her interrogation of Loki was on it.

_“Is this love, Agent Romanoff?” he smirked._

_“Love is for children. I owe him a debt.”_

Then it paused.

“That could just be a conditioned response.” She moistened her lips, or tried to. Her mouth was so dry the words came out almost hoarse.

“And your place in the world?” James dropped to sit next to her and pressed a bottle of water into her hands. She wanted to smile or say thank you, but she couldn’t. A part of her couldn’t quite acclimate to not being so small, alone, or trapped.

“I have no place in the world.”

She wasn’t that little girl anymore.

That little girl died in the… “Red Room,” she said slowly after she took a swallow of water to cool her raw throat. “That was the trigger. It woke up a memory.”

“BARF was working, calibrating requires a little guidance. Friday needed to map where the responses were coming from. Most were spontaneous, the word associations.”

“But that wasn’t…”

“No. That was BARF stimulating your hippocampus and connecting to a memory.” The explanation didn’t comfort her.

“Did you see it or was it just me?”

“Some,” Steve answered, dropping onto the bench on her other side. Neither he nor James were touching her and she was thankful for that prescience. She wasn’t sure she could handle it at the moment.

“That was when you arrived at the Red Room.” Though it wasn’t a question, worry creased James’ face.

“I think so…I didn’t remember that before. I don’t remember a _before_. It was always there. It was Madame B…” Fuck she hated that woman’s name, and frankly if it never passed her lips again it would be too soon. “And Ivan.”

“Petrovitch.” Tony glanced at something on his data pad. “He matches the photos we were able to find when Friday and I deep dived your history.” For a moment, apology flickered in his eyes, but he pressed on. Yeah. They were both passed the need for sorries at the moment. “So we’re…we’re calibrated. But that’s how BARF works. You kind of have to guide it a little. It won’t just wake up a memory, you have to trigger where you want to go and then it will open the doors. In theory, anyway.”

“And it’s that real. I’ll experience it as if I were in real time with it?” Because that meant willingly going back to the Red Room.

“Unfortunately,” Tony admitted. “It can give you some distance…the idea was to help put traumatic events into perspective or get some clarity, but the first few times through…”

Few times? No.

Curling her fingers into her palms, she shook her head. “That means someone else has to see.” She did not want any of them to see.

“Nat,” Steve said her name so gently, as if she might break. “Nothing we see would change my opinion. I _know_ who you are.”

No he didn’t.

“And I know where you came from…”

How could he possibly?

“But I’m not going to ask you to put yourself through this. I can…not watch if you want.” But it killed him to make the offer.

“It’s no darker than what I remember,” James promised her, but that was a lie. He remembered a childhood.

A real one.

Across from her, Tony shrugged. “Not gonna lie Red, that shit’s dark. But I’m not going anywhere. You need someone with you, we’re here. One of us. All of us. None of us. Your choice.”

“Can we guide it? I mean…we need to know names. Not…not how they handcuffed me to a bed every night from the day I arrived and I slept with them on and off until sometime in the seventies.” Or that sometimes she woke believing they were still there.

“We can try,” he told her. “But we’re stimulating memories. Sometimes they have to play out.” He dropped into a crouch in front of her and put a hand on her knee. At some point, the armor had retracted. Looping a finger through the bracelet she still held, Tony ran his thumb against her leg. “When I designed this…I meant it for Barnes.”

Steve sucked in a breath and James went still.

“Remember the night at the tower, Steve and Sam had just gotten back from one of their fruitless hunts…” It could have been any of the number of times they’d come back from a tip. “You and Steve had an argument.”

“Oh.”

That night.

Steve dropped his chin onto her shoulder, and rubbed his forehead against her hair. An apology. He’d been so angry with her that night.

“I called him a damn fool, because even if—sorry James—Barnes remembered him enough to drag him out of the water, the fact he’d gone to ground meant he didn’t want to see Steve or didn’t remember enough. Chasing ghosts hurt. And I wanted him to stop hurting himself.” She licked her lips.

“And I was…less than polite.” Apology clung to Steve’s every word. “Not remembering didn’t mean he _couldn’t_ remember. I saw it in his eyes, and you didn’t have to believe me. Though…” He wrapped a hand around her bicep and squeezed it gently. “I hate that I said you could be a little kinder, and stop blaming him. It wasn’t like I blamed you for what you did.”

“That was an asshole thing to say, Steve.” James broke into the quiet. “She didn’t shoot you.”

“No, she didn’t,” Steve lifted his head and looked at his oldest friend. “I was a punk.”

“Yeah, you were.” Then James look at Tony. “So you made this thing for me?”

“To help, maybe. If Steve could get through to you. Later…it seemed kind of moot. Your brain is healing on its own, and you seem to have way more triggers than Nat. Since I had to test it and faced a few things about myself, I thought it might be good for vets and others with PTSD. Still working the kinks out.” Tony shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“You fix things,” Nat murmured, curling her fingers around Tony’s even as she returned Steve’s affection rub with a little adjustment. Then she opened the fingers of her free hand to James, and he closed his grip around it. “Guys…my life is a horror story. And those are the parts I remember.”

“I don’t think you’re going to scare any of us off,” Tony commented. “We’re down to two and a half hours. Your call.”

“Well if I’m a limp rag by the time we get there, are you guys still going in?” Why did she even have to ask the question?

“We’ll find Clint,” James promised, the words reinforced with murmured assents from Steve and Tony.

She turned, and pressed a kiss to James cheek, and he stroked her wounded knuckles lightly. After, she leaned forward to press a gentler one below the cut on Tony’s cheek with a whispered, “Sorry.” He squeezed her hand, careful. Finally, she looked at Steve and brushed a kiss to his lips. An apology that he had to witness this and a thank you that he would be willing.

“Do I need to put the armor back on?” Because if she flailed in that, she could hurt someone. How the hell had she hurt Tony?

“No, I think we can get away with the head piece now.” He slipped the bracelet back on her wrist, then stroked it twice to secure it. It made him feel better that she was willing to wear it, so she didn’t argue. Next he slid a small metal headband on behind her head and it tucked against her ears, then a second device he laid gently against the curve of her undamaged eye.

“Friday, we interrupt the sequence if her vitals go beyond established parameters or Red says…?” He looked at her.

A safe word. That made sense. “Strawberry.” It wasn’t something she said on a regular basis and it was fairly innocuous.

“Strawberry it is. Got that Friday?”

“Got it, Boss.”

Carefully extracting herself from Steve and James, she planted her hands on her knees. “Distance would probably be advisable.” She eyed Tony’s wounded cheek. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t do that…exactly.” Tony winked, but he retreated a couple of steps, James and Steve easing a few inches over. “I know better than to try and hold you still. My bad, not yours.”

Still, she’d hurt him. “Clean that up, yeah?”

“Sure,” he agreed, then glanced at the controls. Friday handled the flying for them, monitoring her, running her searches, and generally handling everything. Maybe they should label Friday a superhero. “When you’re ready. Just…focus on what you want to remember.”

The next steps had almost become routine. Then again, it was a regimen she’d followed most of her life.

Breath control.

Heart rate calming.

Mental discipline.

Compartmentalize.

Only this time, she had to do it a little differently.

She had to open vaults, not close them.

Where to start?

Male voice. Red Room.

Alexei.

_The doctor jamming a needle into her arm bruised. Ice poured into her veins, but she had to lie still. This was not her first treatment. She made the mistake of crying out during the last treatment._

_They left her there for a second one._

_It only last an hour. If she could endure it for an hour in silence, then she would be free. The metal table beneath her back was colder than the ice-blue liquid flowing through the piping and vanishing into her arm. Though she swore she could feel it crawling through her, icing everything in its path._

_Her thin chemise and skirt were no buffer against the cold metal. Overhead, a single light shone down on her, casting the rest of the room into shadow._

_“Who are you?” A voice demanded, and Natalia stilled. Strangers were not allowed within the precincts of the Red Room. But protocol demanded she answer no questions nor speak of her time in Dr. Federov’s care._

_“I said, who are you?” A face appeared over hers and though he possessed a deep voice and a Muscovite accent, he didn’t appear much older than she. Boys did not come to the Red Room._

_She could not answer. This had to be a test. There were always tests. Trials of skill, cunning, and training. They never announced them, if they did, how could they be tests?_

“What the hell?” Tony murmured somewhere in the distance. “Friday, run a facial match on this guy if you can.”

_Madame B said life was a test and it would not give you warning when it was all about to turn. If she could not be prepared for everything, then she would fail._

_Failure was not acceptable._

_Snapping fingers right in front of her eyes. Too close, at this distance it would take little for him to inflict a debilitating injury. Yet her instructions were to lie on the table, receive her treatment, and don’t move._

_Not blinking, she stared fixedly past his head._

_Slap!_

A low masculine growling sound that cut off almost as soon as it began.

_Her cheek stung. The heat helped abate some of the cold numbing her all over. A flick of a look at the bag. It was nearly empty. Just a few more minutes._

_A second slap._

_This one knocked her head to the side and cut the inside of her lip against her teeth._

_She released no sound. If she moaned or cried out, they would start all over again. The boy might appear young, but perhaps he was a soldier. Perhaps this was a test for him._

_Good._

_He would fail._

_She would not._

_Apparently unsatisfied with the slaps, he grabbed one of her bare leg and lifted it into the air. She kept her muscles lax. Tensing only made the treatment harder to endure._

_He dropped it and it made a godawful clanking noise against the metal table when her shoe bounced._

_“Are you a doll?” The boy demanded, circling to her other side—where the bag with its rapidly depleting blue rested. Dr. Federov must have been in a hurry, he’d left the gauge wide open and she never received an infusion this fast._

_The ice reached her brain and her vision whited out a second._

“Is it changing? What did he do?” Steve’s voice tensed, as though his every muscle coiled. This must be killing them to see and they couldn’t interfere.

_A fist to the belly, and it drove all of the air out of her. She fought the release of sound, but the huff happened whether she liked it or not._

_“Shostakov!” A new voice cut through the haze. “Get out of here.”_

_“Who is she?” The boy demanded imperiously. “Why does she not answer me?”_

_Gradually the haze cleared._

_“You were told the wait,” the…commander. Yes, the man was a commander. She recognized him. He dined with Ivan occasionally. They invited her to join them occasionally. He always had questions for her._

“Karpov.” The snarled name fell from James’ lips.

“Definitely not a friendly,” Tony commented. It was almost funny.

_“I asked you a question.” The younger man complained, his attitude and tone demanding acquiescence from a man who could pull out his gun and shoot him in the face._

_She’d seen him do it._

_She almost hoped he’d do it now._

_Instead, he caught the boy with the backhand of his fist, knocking him away from her. “Leave this room, Alexei. Return to the office where you were instructed to wait.”_

_“And if I don’t?”_

_Karpov pulled out his gun. “Then your father will likely mourn you, but he will survive.”_

_She wanted to tell him to shoot him. But there was still the smallest amount of blue left in the bag. She dared not move. At least the bruising on her belly had eased. She could take a deeper breath._

_The younger man snarled something rude, then abruptly departed. He was brave—or stupid._

_She leaned on stupid._

_The rasp of metal against leather brushed her ears, then the distinct snap of the fastener on the holster securing the weapon. Natalia did not exhale in relief._

_She had not been afraid._

_While she had done nothing wrong. If he chose to shoot her, she could not have stopped him._

_The commander’s face filled her vision as he leaned over the table. His breath smelled of onions, vodka, and cigarettes. His teeth were stained when he smiled. With a thick finger, he touched her cheek and turned her head so he could examine the marks. She supposed a handprint decorated her face._

_“Oh…Commander.” Dr. Federov had returned. “We were not expecting you.”_

_The commander did not look away from her as he turned her head the other way. She lay as still as possible. Just another minute. Perhaps two and she would be free._

_She would have succeeded._

_“I had to find a problem,” the commander muttered. “He does not appear to have interfered with her progress.”_

_The doctor clucked, and he leaned over her, his white coat draping her face and forcing her to inhale his unwashed stench. Had the man never heard of soap?_

_“No, this infusion went quickly.”_

_“I thought her too young to introduce the serum, yet.” The commander stared at the doctor steadily. “What is this?”_

_“I advised Madame and she agreed with me, if we introduced the serum in stages, we would gain a more acceptable result. It will also help this scrawny one survive. They push them harder every day here. She is most determined for the Black Widow program to surpass your own.”_

_The commander snorted. “Then you have not told her our plans.”_

_“Of course not,” Federov glanced down at her. “Nor will any of us speak to Madame about this, will we Natalia?”_

_She blinked once, but said nothing._

_The commander’s eyes narrowed, but the doctor smiled. “No, she is obeying the last order she was given. She is very obedient. You wanted the conditioning in place, yes? For your Asset program?”_

Something crashed, metal screaming. “Easy,” Tony shouted. “You do that too much you’ll bring the whole damn quinjet down.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“Yeah, but he was speaking Russian…we don’t have the…” Steve. His voice had moved. Closer to James.

“Friday, translation, please?”

“He said she was marked for the Asset program.” James’ voice broke.

Oddly, the information did not surprise her. She’d forgotten, but somehow—she’d known that. Known her success as Black Widow was all that stood between her and becoming a full Asset.

Or was it because they’d found James?

_“Very well, you are a good girl, Natachenka.” The commander stroked her face. “I will punish the arrogant little boy for touching you.”_

_The last of the blue was gone, and Federov removed the needle from her arm. Then he urged her to sit up. Her head swam and the room went a little wavy. She couldn’t feel anything. Not even the sting of her face._

_The commander tucked a finger under her chin. “Give us a kiss, Natachenka.”_

_Her stomach rolled, but she pressed a kiss obediently to his cheek._

_He smiled at her benevolently. “Dinner soon, yah? I shall tell Ivan.”_

_Then he was gone, and Federov clucked behind her. He hadn’t given her leave to speak or to get off the table so she waited._

_The doctor circled to look at her. He grasped her chin, tilted her head this way and that. Shone the bright light in her eyes. Then he pushed her mouth open as if she were a beast who needed its teeth checked._

_“Readiness report.”_

_“Minor bruises. One laceration from sparring.”_

_“Show me the laceration.”_

_She twisted to lift her chemise, showing him her back._

_“How did you receive this injury?” He poked the wound. Prodding it. It was shallow and had bled a lot._

_“Galina and I were sparring with knives. She thought to remove me from the program.”_

_“Ahh…this is why I have Galina to autopsy.” He patted her arm. “You did well, Natalia. Return tomorrow. I wish to see the condition of the injury. If you receive any others, keep note of them. Understood?”_

_“Yes, doctor.” She could not wait to get out of this room._

_“You may go.”_

_He didn’t have to tell her twice, she pushed off from the table and shot out of the room._

Nat blinked rapidly and shook her head as the memory faded. The haunted look on James’ face was the first one she saw, but both Steve and Tony looked ill.

“It’s going to get worse, guys. Maybe…maybe we let Friday record it.”

“No,” Tony said, shaking his head. “None of us want recordings of that, and if you’re walking back in there, at least you’ll know we’re right here to pull you out.”

Steve clasped her hand in his. “You’re freezing.”

“It was really cold in Doctor Federov’s lab.” She hated him. He was so—genial and nice about his tortures.

James draped a blanket around her and Steve wrapped an arm around her with James settling on the other side. Buffered between them, much as they had in the snow after Azzano, they worked to keep her warm.

“I almost hate to ask this…” Tony studied her. “What were we trying to get to with that…mad scientist schtick?”

Maybe it was understanding just how benign that moment had been, but she was less troubled by Alexei’s actions or Karpov’s—she remembered his name now. Odd that she hadn’t before. Maybe it was James saying it while she’d been in there. Weird that she could interact outside of the memory or at least process other memories.

“I’m trying to remember how I know that voice. We know Alexei is out there…I didn’t think it was him, but…I thought of our first meeting.”

“You were thirteen?” Steve almost choked. “That was…if we’d known…I could have stopped that.” Horror etched in his every word. “We could have stopped that.”

“There was no way for you to know,” she assured him and squeezed his hand. “The Red Room was…highly compartmentalized. Not even the government always knew they existed.”

“But we were in Russia then, Natalia.” James said, his expression grave, and he shared a look with Steve. “We had a mission there in ’43, we were after a Hydra base…”

“Self-flagellate later,” Tony ordered, then focused on her. “Okay, so the abusive little shit was Alexei, the commander was someone named Karpov…”

“He was my handler after the war,” James said. “I was the Asset.”

“The doctor?”

“Federov.”

Tony nodded. “He worked with Erskine. So that was when they started giving you the serum…or at least some variant on it.”

“To keep me alive apparently. So nice of them to do me favors, don’t you think?” Her joke fell flat with her audience.

“Federov died,” James told her. “I killed him.”

“What?” She glanced at him.

“He was the doctor who wouldn’t treat her.” Steve wasn’t asking.

One nod from James.

“Well…I guess I owe you another thank you,” she told him, and bumped his shoulder.

“But we still don’t have what we need.” Tony raked his fingers through his hair. “Okay, we need you to drink and eat something.” James gave her a new water bottle, and Steve held out a protein bar. They were all so solicitous, it made her twist. What had she done to deserve all this kindness?

“How much longer?”

“Still two hours, that didn’t take as long as it might have felt.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll go again after I eat.” Chewing on the tasteless bar, she let them argue against her attempting again so soon. They needed to vent.

Did she go forward? Or back? Was the secret in the Red Room?

Or in the time after?

Pandora’s box it was.

“Guys…I’m ready.” Their arguments faded.

Or maybe she tuned them out.

Her memories went fuzzy after graduation so…she focused on what happened after…

_She stood in front of a room full of dancers. They were all younger than she. Dressed in a simple black dress and black pumps she’d received after her discharge from the medical ward, she ran a finger against her side. There had been a wound there. Two days before they’d completed her graduation._

_Already healed, she’d made Madame quite happy. She should have already been discharged to her first assignment, instead she remained at the Red Room. The children in the room dancing were so young._

_“Natalia,” Madame B called to her and Natalia turned from the class as the headmistress approached. Like Natalia, she was dressed in a plain black dress, and sensible pumps. In fact, all that separated them was Natalia’s hair was free and not confined to a chignon and her shoes were newer. “General Karpov has requested you personally.”_

_She was not allowed an opinion, so she nodded. “Am I to report to him?”_

_“No, he is here to speak with you personally. He has been here since the beginning of the graduation trials.”_

_Odd. She hadn’t seen him. He usually made a point of seeking her out. Then she’d also been quite busy, so perhaps he had not wanted to intervene. Madame led them to the stairs and down to the private training rooms. She’d rarely ventured down here since they’d brought the boys to train, and the boys were not supposed to leave them._

_Alexei rarely followed that instruction._

_“You are the Black Widow, you understand the purpose of this designation? The honor you have been granted?”_

_“Earned.” The word slipped out, and she didn’t even try to retract it._

_Madame gave her an appraising look, then inclined her head. “You are correct. You earned your title.”_

_The acknowledgement nurtured a small glow of satisfaction. Madame rarely if ever offered compliments._

_“But as you have_ earned _this title, you should choose to defend it.”_

_“Of course,” she agreed, keeping her pace matched to the older woman’s more sedate stroll. There was noise ahead. Shouts. Thumps. The occasional curse of pain._

_The boys must be training._

_Beating bound prisoners took a lot of practice._

_Not that she was bitter._

_“Good. Keep this in mind when Karpov tempts you to follow his program.”_

_“His program, Madame?” A vague memory stirred. A conversation when she was younger. She had thought his mind changed as it never came up again._

_“Yes, Natalia. You will learn that you are our greatest resource, and the Red Room’s pride. You are a credit to us all and many will covet you, but there is only one Black Widow. Do you know where she belongs?”_

_“She has no place in this world,” Natalia responded correctly._

_“Exactly so. If they offer you a place?” Madame challenged._

_Natalia spared her a look. “I have no place in this world.”_

_Madame smiled then pushed open the doors to the gym. Across the room Leonid pounded on Alexei with a ferocity as they exchanged blows twisting wildly back and forth across the mats. Yuri lay bleeding, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Wounded. Not dead._

_Alexei favored his right, and Leonid honed into his wounded side with a series of blows. The action forced Alexei to stay on the move, but Leonid seemed to be keeping his right arm closer to his body, and led with his left. Had he injured his right somehow? She saw no signs of it._

_They continued to trade blows, crashing into each other, and wrenching each other this way and that. Neither had true advantage over the other. Alexei’s temper, however, had spiked and he grew sloppier. Leonid possessed a cruel streak a mile wide, but he lacked patience. Twice he missed opportunities by rushing to engage when he should have let Alexei come to him._

_Men._

_“Enough.” A growled command separated them instantly._

_Never had she seen them so obedient._

_They pivoted, and Leonid scowled when his gaze collided with hers. She ignored him and turned to see who commanded them._

_The man stared at Alexei and Leonid, and did not seem to notice her. It gave her time to examine him. He was tall, thick bodied with a narrow waist. Nearly a foot taller than she, perhaps a 100 kilograms. He wore body armor and had…_

_…a metal arm._

_“Natalia,” General Karpov called to her in greeting and she straightened to meet the general as he strolled to her. Then he kissed each of her cheeks. “You look stunning, the perfect Black Widow. You are healed yes?”_

_“Yes, Comrade.”_

_“Wonderful. I have someone for you to meet—you two will be working together.” He snapped his fingers. “Asset.”_

_The Soldier turned, his ice blue eyes zeroing in on her like a physical blow. Leonid lunged suddenly, but the Soldier caught his fist, and twisted and his arm broke and without slowing, James hit him hard enough to lift him off the ground and fling him backwards._

_Karpov chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “He is an excellent trainer. I think you can learn from him, don’t you?”_

_Madame said nothing and Natalia raised her eyebrows. “I can break Leonid’s arm. He need not teach me that.”_

_Karpov laughed louder and slipped an arm around her. “Come, come. Let us introduce you. Send the children away, Asset.”_

_James—no here he was the Soldier, nodded once, and issued a terse command. His voice was low, hoarse as if rarely used. Alexei sent her another venomous look, but he dragged Yuri with him and left Leonid to stumble behind him._

_The hate in Alexei’s eyes couldn’t quite measure up to the raw fury in Leonid’s. Pain and humiliation were powerful intoxicants._

_“Asset. This is Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow…you will address her as  Widow.”_

_“Widow.” The Asset said perfunctorily, but the weight of his regard pinned her to the spot. This was not the assignment she had expected, or was this what Madame implied about Karpov recruiting her for his program?_

_He wanted to make her as dead-eyed as the beast of a man in front of her._

_“What do I call him?” Natalia asked._

_“Asset.”_

_“That is not a name.”_

_Karpov shrugged. “He is not a person.”_

_She almost wanted to apologize, but with little other option. She returned his nod. “Asset.”_

_“Yes, I thought this would be a good match. The Asset is currently training the boys. You will join him for those workouts. Then you will work together in the afternoons.”_

_“Comrade?” Perhaps it wasn’t the most politic, but she had to ask. “What precisely is it the Asset is supposed to train me in?” She had just proven her training beyond reproach._

_With a smile, Karpov gave her a too friendly squeeze. He’d gotten handsier over the years, but there wasn’t much she couldn’t get out of him with a little flirt. Though under the pressure of the Asset’s regard, she didn’t want to employ those techniques and tip her hand._

_She might need them for him._

_“The Asset will determine that. He witnessed all of your tests…and he saved your life. So perhaps you are not as clever as you believe.” Then Karpov slapped her ass. “Talk, I will speak to Madame.”_

_Responding to his advance would gain her nothing so she ignored it._

_He walked away, but instead of staring at her the Asset tracked the general’s path. “You saved my life?” she questioned. If the comrade said so, then she had to accept it but she did not recall his presence during her trials._

_A nod. “Nobokov attacked after the halt was called.”_

_That would explain the broken jaw. No one else had seen fit to explain it to her._

_“You interfered?”_

_He turned his ice blue gaze on her. “Yes. Do you know what your mistake was?”_

_Oh. She could guess. “I didn’t kill him before they called halt.”_

_The Asset nodded. “We will rectify that failing.”_

_While she bristled at failure, she had to admit—the offer intrigued her._

_She couldn’t stand any of those brutes. Killing two of them was a source of enormous pride._

_“Well then I suppose it’s good that I’ll be training alongside them.”_

_“You will be training with me,” the Asset corrected. “They will not touch you.”_

_Well…huh. She had no idea what to make of that._

_“Natalia,” the headmistress called and she pivoted immediately to face her, though she kept the Asset in her periphery. “Come. You will start tomorrow. What time should she arrive?”_

_“When do you rise?” The Asset asked before Karpov could say anything._

_“Five,” she answered. She preferred to get in her dance practice first thing. “I dance. Then breakfast.”_

_A nod. “I will observe the dance. Then we will meet here after the meal. Dress more appropriately for training.”_

_The reprimand irked, but she nodded. “As you wish.”_

_Aware of Karpov’s lingering stare, she walked away from him and joined the headmistress as she lead her out of the room._

_“Be wary Natalia,” Madame told her. “Karpov is a dangerous man.”_

_She smiled. Karpov was nowhere near as dangerous as his asset. “Then it is well that I am a dangerous woman.”_

_“Yes,” Madame said with a cold smile._

The memory faded, taking with it the smells of sweat, blood, and pain. The darkened hall vanishing as she sagged. If not for Steve, she would have fallen right off the bench. Exhaustion struck like a solid fist and she was out before she could say a word.


	38. We made some very public mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony tackle the raid of Volgograd.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

_We made some very public mistakes_

Tony

 

 

Alarms sounded throughout the ship as Natasha collapsed. Tony jerked his head toward the cockpit. They were closing in on their target. Friday had Nat’s vitals scrolling on a screen, and Steve had her cradled to his chest even as Barnes looked like he was about to take her from him.

“Friday kill that alarm.” Tony pointed at Steve. “Get her up. Barnes, flip that bench. It converts.” As much as he wanted to stand right there and hold Nat’s hand until her eyes opened, he slid into the cockpit and checked their course, heading, and the radar. They’d entered Russian airspace, but their cloak held.

Behind him, the thunk of metal and then the sliding lock told him they’d gotten the bed opened.

“Rogers, if you can get an IV in her, we should start loading fluids. Friday, I need a full bio-scan.” Adjusting his chair, he studied the layout of their target. It was outside of the city itself, nestled in some rolling hills with scattered woods. The sun chased them across the countryside, the earlier morning pre-dawn still dark ahead of him, but edging toward pink behind.

He’d told Nat she needed a break, but she’d pushed it. Three fully formed memory sinks. Fuck…after she’d said the infirmary memory was hardly the worst one he’d wanted to be sick. It had been one thing to research the rumors and what files there were on the Red Room.

It was entirely different to see anyone, especially someone he cared about, trapped in some hellish, nightmare scape. The worst, he couldn’t just blast in there and save her. It had all happened _before_ he was born. He should never have told her about BARF. Never torn into those scarred over places. Yes, she wanted her memories back—but had their loss been that bad?

“Blankets are in the chest over there,” Steve said. “IV in, and we’ve got it running.” He’d learned a lot of field medicine back in WWII, but Nat and Clint had made sure all of them knew how to do field dressings, IV insertion, and stitches even. The idea being they weren’t superhuman and the faster they could patch each other in the field, the better for everyone.

Steve, Bruce and Thor rarely required the care. Tony was usually safe in his suit, but he’d taken a fair share of knocks. As it turned out, Nat could heal just about anything given time, but she’d still insisted they learn it.

Because Clint was more human than any of them.

 _Focus Tony._ He could almost hear Nat’s husky voice in his ear. Yes, he needed to focus. Steve had her. “We’re about ten minutes out from the Volgograd installation. Friday, let’s start bringing up some wireframes and scans. I want to know what we’re looking at…and where is my report on Romanoff?”

“Boss, all vitals are within normal range. Resonance scans are showing no signs of internal bleeding, however there is a subdural hematoma near her occipital region. Initial scans did not detect it when she came aboard, but she did show signs of a minor concussion.”

And not once had she complained.

“Steve, can you check her pupil reactivity?”

There was a hesitation, then Barnes said, “I can.”

“Then get on it _Tuff Turf_. Then look at these scans with Steve and let me know if you’ve been to this place.” After seeing Barnes on the grisly tape of Nat’s training graduation test thing, they’d all kind of had to accept that yes—the vague possibility they’d known each other in a country as large as Russia with all of its super secret programs was more than a probability.

But seeing him even through the nebulous holograms generated by Natasha’s memories? They’d worked together.

The ten million dollar question of why he’d have been blocked from her mind or so carefully extracted—or maybe not so carefully, how many years was she missing? Did she even know? Either way, it begged the question of what their relationship became.

A mile out from what looked to be a large manor house with three—or possibly four floors—above ground and definitely a basement of some kind, though the levels beneath the hill it rested upon were heavily shielded, he slowed the quinjet and settled at a hover pattern around five thousand feet. Well below standard flight paths, and based on Friday’s projections, out of any approach vector toward Volgograd itself. Ship stabilized, he ran through a full system check.

He left the cockpit only when he was satisfied the ship was as safe as they could make it while intruding in foreign airspace with three fugitives and the only legal Avenger aboard violating the Accords—the hell with that—three Avengers and one damaged and unstable former assassin on board. Yes, because that made it so much better.

Natasha lay on her side, the unbruised side of her face down. There was an icepack spread over her cheek, and another beneath her ear. Steve had elevated her feet and Barnes had inserted an IV into the back of her hand. A bag of saline hung, with another right next to it to be changed when she finished the first.

The first was already a third of the way empty.

Tony studied her still features. Even in her loss of consciousness—he hesitated to label it sleep—she still seemed guarded. The corners of her mouth were tight, and a frown marred her forehead.

Fuck. Had BARF ignited a firestorm of bad dreams for her? A little too late, he recalled the shift in his dreams after he used the device. He’d had nightmares before, had them for years—especially after the cave, and then after New York. His chronic insomnia had been a saving grace in those months. Going 72 hours at a stretch, sometimes longer, let him avoid the hell waiting for him on the other side. A hell where aliens plundered New York while he remained trapped in a cave. Or when a nuke got away from him, slamming into his tower and the shockwave blew him far enough back to see that all he could do was watch as nuclear fire consumed his home, his friends, and all those people—and aliens still poured through the hole into space.

A shudder rolled through him and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “How is she doing, Cap?”

Steve glanced at him, he stood a foot or so away and clearly didn’t want to be that far, but Barnes had taken up a sentry post on the floor near her head and stared at her like he could see into her brain.

Because, yeah. That wasn’t creepy at all.

“Asleep, I’m hoping.” But Steve didn’t sound so certain.

“Friday?” Tony was taxing her, he knew he taxed her—but she responded brilliantly and had even repurposed two satellites for backup allowing her the processing space to keep everything running smoothly while she kept eyes on Pepper, Peter, Rhodey, the tower, and the compound, while also running interference on facial recognition, autopilot and helping here.

God, if he could give the AI a raise he would. He needed to figure out a way to give her something for everything she did.

“Boss, I need more data…however, all signs indicate a coma like state. She’s not asleep, there is some brain activity, but it is very slow, and low wave.”

The information slammed into him like a fist in the gut. Steve stared at him with pained eyes, and a look of fix it written all over his face. There was an almost growl from Barnes as he hurled to his feet. Tony hadn’t put the arc reactor back on, but he fumbled for the remote when Barnes charged him. He hadn’t gotten a grip on it when Steve stepped right into Barnes’ path and shoulder checked him hard.

“Stop! Bucky! Stop!”

“He did this!” The raw, wounded fury in Barnes’ voice spoke of so much pain it even squeezed Tony’s heart.

Steve didn’t let Barnes go, locking his metal arm down and keeping another arm around him. “No he didn’t…Nat wanted to do this. She wanted to get her memories back. You heard her.” The torture in his voice held back tears. “And she’s not dead…she’s in a coma. We can come out of comas. _Think_ Bucky. I survived the ice. You survived cryo…she can do this.”

“She’s not us,” Barnes argued, but he stopped trying to push past Steve and his hellish eyes focusing on Steve.

“No,” Steve clasped his shoulder now, bracing him. “She’s _stronger_ than we are. I may not understand the history you two share—maybe you don’t get it. But I know _her_. She didn’t sit the last century out, Bucky. And she’s still _here_.”

Holding the remote on his palm, Tony kept it in his pocket. He wasn’t going to shock Barnes for the hell of it. “I didn’t want this to happen to her,” he promised both super soldiers, and didn’t shy away from Barnes’ cold eyes when they fixed on him. “I don’t want anything to happen to her. Friday says there is low wave activity, and a coma could mean her brain is healing itself. We just blew a hole in whatever they did to her. That’s trauma…like the explosion in Azzano, and Paris, and the fight in the streets—and that fight we found her in Prague. You following me?”

Expression tightening, Barnes nodded once and leaned on Steve rather than resisted him. Steve didn’t hesitate to keep his best friend steady. “How long?” Barnes asked.

“I wish I knew the answer,” Tony told him and he meant it. “But she heals _fast_. Bruises, cuts, even gunshot wounds—we have to look at this as another type of stress injury.” At Barnes’ doubtful look, Tony spread his hands. “It didn’t kill me, and I think we can all agree, she’s a hell of a lot stronger than I am.”

“They played with her mind,” Barnes reminded him, but he pulled his attention back to her. “They damaged her.”

“Well you’d probably know best. And as fun as rehashing what you don’t know yet, none of this does us any good. We’re in Volgograd. We need to get into this place, shut it down and pull out Clint if he’s there.”

Steve’s clamped his jaw tight as he met Tony’s gaze. Cap wanted another answer. Tony didn’t have a different one.

“You know there’s nothing except this. No art openings, no benefits, nothing to sign, and no time to sit at her bedside holding her hand. She won’t thank us for it. There’s the mission to get Clint and then the next one until we shut these people down.” If it made him sound cold. So be it.

“You sound like her,” Steve admitted, and he gave Barnes’ shoulder another squeeze before releasing him. The former assassin at least seemed calmer as he returned to Natasha.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Let’s see the place Friday.” The wireframes came up. “We’ve got surveillance cameras staged out. I’m going to bet the fence line is wired, it looks subtle…like a manor house. Maybe this is a home for one of their higher ups.”

“It’s an orphanage,” Barnes answered without glancing at him. “The Red Room functioned publically as schools or homes for wayward and abandoned girls. Lots of those in post war Russia. More hungry families—scorched earth and communism didn’t leave a lot to eat. Families with too many mouths would surrender their daughters, sometimes their sons. The value of a son over a daughter seems to be universal.” And stupid in Barnes’ not so subtle opinion. Not that Tony faulted him for it. “Sometimes they targeted girls to make them orphans when their families wouldn’t volunteer them.”

“Think that’s what happened to Nat?” Steve asked, but Barnes shrugged.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know her when she was little. After that…” he motioned to where the hologram had appeared, indistinct but filling in as Natasha remembered. “I think I can see her in the training room…and I _know_ why I said she would not be training with Alexei or the others.”

“They hated her,” Tony supplied. Even Nat had seen it that way. Her memory of their sharp looks of dislike hadn’t really affirmed it. The way they’d beaten the hell out of her had.

“More…they were jealous.” Barnes slanted a look at them. “She was faster, more skilled, and less prone to psychological breaks. She showed them up in front of their superiors. Killed two of them. Gravely injured them.”

“She kicked them right in the pride.” Steve rested his gaze on her still face. “Bullies.”

“The worst kind,” Barnes said, his expression rueful. “She was as bad as you at provoking them.”

“Remembering that?” Steve checked with him.

“Maybe…it feels right. She was strong, but they were a group…I had to train them.”

“But you didn’t mind breaking them a little.” Tony smirked. “I can respect that.” At Steve’s incredulous look, Tony shrugged. “Calling it like I see it. So back to the Russian Horror Story: Orphanage Edition. Nat was following human trafficking—including kids?” He surveyed the house again. If they had hostages this was going to get tricky, fast.

“The research at Azzano said whatever enhancements they were using worked best on young girls. Women had an acceptable margin of error. They eliminated all male testing due to…abominations.” Steve’s recall was near perfect, so Tony trusted it.

“That makes me feel so much better. There’s three of us and ...”

“Two.” Barnes said firmly. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Buck…”

“No Steve. We don’t know what this is. So one of us has to stay. You two are more stable than I am, and aren’t prone to triggers. If there’s anyone down there with a book, I become a liability. Up here, I can take care of her and if something goes wrong…I’ll come get you.” He wasn’t negotiating, as he laid out the tactics.

Tony studied him. “Can you even fly a quinjet?”

“It’s not hard,” Barnes shrugged. “I can fly a lot of things. Operating equipment was high on the list of required skills programming.”

Steve grimaced, put his hands on his hips and studied the building. “Fine. Two of us. We can’t infiltrate. Neither of us are suited for that.” Cap had decided. Barnes stayed with Nat.

“Then we go in the front door. Shock and awe.” He preferred it that way and from Cap’s nod, so did he. “Eliminate all threats. Locate Barton. Wipe their drives, get any prisoners out, then burn it to the ground.”

“Be wary of the prisoners,” Barnes said. “Even if they are children. Natalia knew how to kill long before I knew her. That is what they train these children for, and they know how to identify weaknesses.”

“I’m not killing kids, Bucky,” Steve’s tone was flat, firm.

“Knockout gas,” Tony suggested before these two could go at it again. Barnes wasn’t wrong. Natasha was hands down one of the most dangerous people he knew and that was unarmed, tied up, and beaten. They’d seen it and she’d been a baby then. She didn’t get that way by accident. “We can relocate them and call in a Foundation support team. Friday, does the Maria Stark Foundation have an affiliate in Russia?” They didn’t operate there directly.

“Yes, Boss. Nochnoye Spaseniye Detey—Night Children Rescue is the beneficiary of many Foundation grants. They have extensive resources for rehoming children in country and to the west.”

“Let’s make sure they aren’t tied to any of this with a little discreet checking, then we’ll notify them to take custody of the kids and advise they get them into some intensive deprogramming.”

“And if they’re already enhanced?” Steve’s question brought him up short as Cap adjusted his uniform and checked his weapons and shield.

“Let’s bite off one problem at a time. Barton first. Shall we?” Because he seriously didn’t need another set of variables to muddy the mix.

Five minutes later, Tony stepped into the stealth armor. He left the matrix armor aboard the ship. The stealth suit had plenty of toys, and he'd tested it. The fact that he couldn’t reveal Iron Man’s presence hampered him, but he’d done more with less.

“Friday, assist Barnes if he requires it.”

“You got it Boss.”

“Take care of our girl,” Steve told him, then brushed her hair away from her face before he joined Tony near the ramp.

“Don’t get dead,” Barnes told them. “Either of you.”

“Clench up Cap,” Tony said, his HUD display feeding all the data from the facility. The sun had begun to lighten the night to day. They needed to move before they lost any advantage of surprise. Hooking his hands under Cap’s armpits, he was already taking off as the hatch opened. Behind him, Barnes had covered Natasha so the draft didn’t pull her blankets, and then they were freefalling.

Friday would close the hatch and the quinjet vanished from sight. Spiraling down, Tony angled straight for the facility.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked, trusting the comm in Cap’s ear to give him the message.

“Together,” Steve said without hesitation. “Splitting up may be more efficient, but we don’t know what’s in there.”

“Got it. Keep an eye out for that enhanced bastard.” If he saw Alexei, he’d blow his head off.

“I intend to,” Steve grunted.

“Top floor?” They were nearing the building. HUD gave him a series of heat signatures.

“No activity on the upper level, Boss. A dozen on the next level down.” Friday confirmed. “Thirty more spread across the next two floors.”

So that was what they could _see_ and didn’t take into account anyone below that level. It had been a long time since he and Cap fought side by side, and their animosity was a too recent memory, and yet when Tony lined up the angles and hurled Cap forward it was old times all over again.

He followed Cap through the shattered glass and onto a dormitory level, and landed with a lightness belying the weight of his armor. Steve was already on his feet, and had pulled the cloth over the lower half of his bearded face. A knit cap covered his hair. Sure they had Friday policing image recognition, but saving her some work wouldn’t hurt.

Tony scanned the room. It was a dormitory, open from one end to the other. The beds were bare framed with metal headboards and each one had a pair of handcuffs attached to them.

Gripping one of them in his hand, Steve crushed the metal shackle. He glanced at Tony and his expression said he didn’t need to see his eyes to know Tony agreed with him.

Nat grew up in a place like this.

There were two access points to the level, one on either side. Tony motioned north and Steve followed him, shield out and braced on his left arm. So far they hadn’t triggered any audible alarms, but better to take it slow than sorry.

Their descent went unchallenged to the next level.

Also a dormitory.

Only this room had twelve young girls handcuffed to the beds, with the rest empty. A few were awake enough to take note of their entry. They probably ranged from ages six to ten. None had hit puberty.

Or God he hoped not.

They were gaunt. Underfed. And more than one had marks on their arms, and bruises in their hollowed out cheeks. Thoughts of murder floated through Tony’s mind and they hadn’t hit him this intently since he’d found Yinsen dying on his way out of the cave.

None of the children cried out in alarm. Their resigned stares—even from the littlest ones—made him nauseated. “Friday, tell them we’re going to free them, but they need to stay up here until we clear the lower levels.”

Steve nodded, and approached the first bed with his hands open to indicate he didn’t intend to hurt them.

One of the girls’ snapped something quickly, and Steve paused awaiting translation.

“She said to leave them if you intend to destroy their makers.”

Tony so did not want the answer to this question. “Ask her why, baby girl.”

The same girl responded to Friday’s inquiry, while Tony kept watch on the HUD. So far no one else in the building seemed to be on the approach, but their time was rapidly counting down. They still needed to locate Barton.

He’d love to have Clint there when Nat opened her eyes.

He wanted to be able to do that for her.

“She said they will die without the makers.”

Steve looked ill. “Friday, tell her we’ll get them help and they don’t need to stay here.”

No, they didn’t have time for nice. “No. Friday just order her to remain on this level and silent until we summon them. Steve, remove the handcuffs.” He hated making it an order, but these kids hadn’t been taught to question or to trust. They obeyed, their will subjected under the very hard edge of a boot.

The girl who’d been answering said nothing, her expression tensing but she did give a sharp nod. It was all Steve needed. He started snapping the handcuffs off, and Tony kept his distance. They didn’t look at Steve the same wary way they watched Tony’s suit. Better to keep watch on their backs while Cap got the kids free. One of the youngest girls escaped her bed and darted toward the older one who’d been talking.

Despite the harshness of the situation, the older girl curled her right into her arms, but kept one arm free—and there was a knife in it.

“They’re armed, Cap.”

“I noticed,” Steve said as he kept moving. “Most of these are hand-fashioned or sharpened. Nat sleeps with weapons under her pillows, too. Now I know why.”

Yeah. Weren’t they so happy to learn more about her bleak past? No wonder Nat loved those ridiculous rom-coms where everything was so easily overcome and people ended up happily ever after. He’d tripped over her stash of romance novels once and had teased her about it.

He’d never seen a single one of those books again.

Fuck, he owed her an apology.

When the last girl was freed, Steve joined him. “Think they’ll stay up here?”

“We can hope. Just watch your back as we go down. We don’t need to find one of their knives sticking in it.” And yeah, if the kids attacked them—well Tony could understand it.

“Yeah. Let’s just leave them a way out.” Grim, they descended together. The second level opened into what looked like classrooms. He was reading a half dozen heat signatures, and guided Steve toward a door. They pushed it open to find six women, of various nationalities, mid-30s to 40s gaping at them from they sat around a table drinking of all things, tea.

Their stunned expressions might have been comical under any other circumstances, but right now Tony didn’t know whether these were more hostages or foes. “Friday.”

His baby girl immediately issued a warning in Russian, or at least that’s what the translation read on his screen.

The woman holding the tea pot flung it at Steve suddenly, and he deflected it easily with the shield. But they were all moving. Everything became a weapon, and they launched it.

“Okay. Hard way it is.” Tony didn’t want to hurt them, but they didn’t seem to harbor any such illusions. He caught one on her way to hit what looked like an alarm and knocked her out against the wall. Steve had more than half down as Tony waded through the other half. They were fierce, but not enhanced. They also didn’t have any kind of guns. Turning everything from plates to pans into weapons wasn’t much of a challenge.

So while they weren’t exactly helpless, they were hardly a match for them. Fortunately, they managed not to kill any of them despite the women doing what they could to encourage it.

“Zip ties,” Tony said, and Steve secured them.

“If we blow this place…”

“I know. But I definitely don’t want this lot at our back. We’ll come back and give them another…” He paused when Friday flashed something on his screen.

“Boss, facial recognition. Three of these women are former soldiers, with ties to Bratva private militaries.” So these were employees. “Working on the others, but so far none match anyone in any missing databases I can access.”

Which didn’t mean they weren’t but…

Steve grimaced. “We’ll check back, but I have a feeling these women aren’t prisoners.”

Tony nodded, taking a beat to inspect the other rooms—some were classrooms, and others were bedrooms, not dormitory living and no handcuffs on the bed. “Paid staff maybe.” That made them complicit with the bastards who handcuffed the little girls to their beds. They could burn.

Without comment, Steve followed him out and adjusted his shield. “Now for the hard part.”

They finished the sweep and went for the stairs. Their run of luck had to be running out. No alarms had been triggered and Friday jammed internal surveillance, but even the worst guards usually noticed the lack of information. These guys were pretty vigilant to have gotten this far.

They made it three steps down when Tony clocked the explosives. “Brace Cap,” was all he had time to say, before he seized Cap and flew upward using the armor to shield Cap. Metal screamed and twisted below them as the controlled charge destroyed the lower half of the stairwell, crumbling the stairs and leaving wreckage in their wake.

Decreasing thrusters, Tony dropped and twisted. “Four targets right outside the door.” With that input, he launched Steve through it shield first. By the time Tony blasted through, Cap had three of the four down and winged his shield to clear another half dozen racing at them as he caught the fourth with a hard kick to the chest that knocked him against a wall and out. Tony targeted another wave and he fired. Six shots. Six targets. Six downed.

The downstairs proved to be a maze of rooms, some of them classrooms and training rooms like they’d seen in Nat’s tapes and memories. They cleared every single one. When they reached the wooden floored dance room with its wall of mirrors and its ballet barre, Tony was more determined than ever to burn it down.

“Found it Boss,” Friday said as she mapped the route to the basement access.

“Two rooms left,” Steve said. So far they hadn’t greeted any other resistance. The rough looking mercs they’d taken out had been tough, but not enhanced.

The last room also housed the double doors to an elevator. Gripping both, Tony ripped them wide. The car was below. Steve moved in sync with him and just dropped through the opening.

Crazy bastard. He had no idea how far it went, but Tony fell right behind him. Three stories, but no panels lined the walls to indicate other floors. They landed on top of the elevator car, and Tony cut a hole in it, then slammed it out with his foot.

“Friday—take over their PA system. Let’s make some noise…”

A quick grin lit Steve’s face as AC/DC throbbed from the speakers. The elevator on the basement level opened up into more labs with bright painful lighting, and white walls, chrome, and glass everywhere. A man stood with a cup of coffee, a sheaf of papers and a stupid look on his face when he spotted them. He yelled something and ran. Steve’s shield caught him in the back before he could get far.

Somewhere in this warren of hellish experiments and brewed poisons, Tony hoped they’d find Barton. Without a word, he and Steve split the work, clearing lab after lab. Whenever something noxious fumed into the air, Tony hit the extractors. Steve could hold his breath, but that wasn’t practical.

Finding a gas mask that looked in decent condition, he tossed it to the super soldier. The cells were located near the center, dark concrete sealed rooms with harsh cold metal tables and old IV stands. It was something out of one of Natasha’s nightmares.

Steve split the first table in half.

Tony melted the second. They used the third to batter open a metal door at the end.

All the cells were empty.

Frustration edged him.

“Any other life signs down here, Friday?” They’d gone through every room. He’d already hijacked their computers. Friday had downloaded the data. Steve tore open cabinets, doors, and everything else. Their formulas were smashed, or washed away with cleansers pouring from ceiling faucets.

“One heat signature, fifteen feet to your left and a dozen feet north.”

Steve was already moving, he got the hidden door open, but before he could take another step—a figure slammed into him. The HUD flared with key information—human, male, six-foot four, two hundred and fifty pounds, and his hit sent Steve crashing through another glass window and tumbling across the floor. The man whirled to Tony, and he already had his weapons ready. But the guy moved fast as hell and slammed a fist into his chest, knocking him backwards.

He hit like a truck.

Like Barnes.

Like Steve.

“Get me his fight pattern,” he ordered Friday and braced himself for the next blow. The second impacted on his shoulder hard enough to closed the hatch on the barrel for his shoulder mounted guns. The metal crunched under the force and Tony got a repulsor shot off but it only sent his opponent skidding backward.

Dirty blond hair clung to his cheeks, and he wore the most insane smile as he caught Tony in a double kick, this time Tony hit the wall behind him and he had to fire his thrusters to avoid the next hit. Gigantor seized something like a huge block table and flung it at him.

He braced his forearms for a hit that didn’t reach him because a maskless Captain America blocked it with his shield and then slung it away. Then he charged the other guy. Crashing together, they exchanged blows as Tony got to his feet. The HUD flickered. Bastard had managed to do damage even with the few blows he’d landed—not that they were love taps.

Blood sprayed from Steve’s mouth as Gigantor landed a particularly brutal upper cut. Steve twisted away from the next hit, literally catching the guy in a shoulder lock, then walking the wall upward as he flipped over and threw his opponent. It was a move Tony had seen Nat pull off, but she didn’t have Cap’s strength. Her targets usually hit the ground, winded and stunned. Steve’s landed with a crack against a stone column, though it was hard to tell which took the worst hit—the column or Gigantor.

The brute bounced off it, and faced them fists up, nose bloody, and his mouth wearing a broken smile. Tony would call his eyes mad, but that would suggest some form of damaged sanity. Those pits weren’t human.

“Together,” Steve called and charged the guy again. He was bleeding from his nose, his mouth, and from cuts along his hairline. There were rips in his suit, too. Tracking all of that, Tony didn’t hesitate to join him. He used his repulsors to launch himself forward, and then he hammered the guy from one side while Steve hit him from the other.

It would be easier to down a vibranium wall. What the hell had they fed this guy? For every blow Tony landed, Gigantor managed two. He seemed more focused on Steve, though. The wild rage in his eyes went incandescent whenever he spotted Captain America. Could be bad east-west relations or the fact he was bat crap crazy, either way. This fight had gone on too long. Systems all over the suit were reporting impact damage.

A dozen weapons were offline and the stealth suit wasn’t designed for sustained combat. He made a mental note to fix that in the future. Steve stumbled, and Tony caught Gigantor’s fist before it could hit his head.

“Divert all power to containment,” he ordered and shackled the bigger man’s fist and wrist. He had to clamp his feet down to twist the arm out, then down and even then, the bastard fought back. The servos and gears in his armor screamed in protest. Then Steve was there, and he got a hold of the guy’s other arm, and they drove him back against the wall. Steve slammed the shield against Gigantor’s face. Once. Twice. Then on the third, the man went limp and dropped.

“Shit,” Tony swore as he backed, staggering at all the red systems flashing on the HUD.

“Yeah,” Steve panted, spitting blood out to the side. Apparently sharing Tony’s wariness, he stared at the guy. “I’m going to guess this is Leonid…maybe?”

It definitely wasn’t Alexei. Steve had _seen_ him.

“Don’t think so,” Tony said, he would do a comparison match once Friday got the malfunctions under control. Frying all his processors was not the way to end this mission. “Thought that guy had black hair.” He couldn’t quite picture his face, but he also thought it had a narrower look, and a longer nose.

“Definitely enhanced.” Steve straightened slowly. Fatigue reflected in the way he backed a step.

“You think?”

Not rising to the bait, Steve cast him a bloodied smile. “Not sure we should leave this one… but I don’t think we can contain him.”

Not on a quinjet with Natasha. Oh hell no. Executing a man already down though didn’t sit right either. “Maybe lock him in one of their cells. We’re burning the place anyway…maybe give him a fighting chance if he wakes up before it goes to hell.”

Who said he couldn’t compromise?

“Sounds good.” More shocking. Captain America wasn’t opposed to the plan.

Well, all right then.

Steve went to haul the guy up, but Gigantor’s eyes flicked open and he twisted on the floor, and slammed both of his feet into Steve’s chest. The super soldier flew backward, and Tony leapt to catch him. By the time he righted them both Gigantor had fled. The music cut out, new alarms blared. These didn’t need translation.

“Time to go.”

“The girls,” Steve muttered.

“Yep.” Tony wrapped an arm around Steve and calculated the damage, then diverted power to his thrusters. He’d be running on two, so it would have to make it work. They flew straight toward the elevator shaft and up. It extended all the way to the fourth floor—good.

On the third, Steve grasped one door and Tony the other and they wrenched them wide. A false wall hid the elevator entrance. With a slam, Steve drove himself right through it rolling into the dormitory and onto his feet.

The room was empty.

The kids were gone.

The alarm rang up here.

“We need to find them.”

“C’mon Friday, give me some readings.” But the HUD kept shorting. “Cap we don’t have time.”

“We can't leave them trapped in here,” Steve yelled, already running for the staircase.

Swearing, Tony followed. The second floor occupants were all dead—throats slit and one of them had a spoon jammed right through her eye. Still no sign of the kids, they made it to the first floor as the first explosion rippled through the building. The HUD cleared up in just enough time for a whole new set of flashing reds to hit him.

“Time’s up,” he announced and charged Steve, but the whole building went up around them. He had no time to get them out, so he did what he could to cover him. The noise was deafening as the building toppled around them, wood, cinder blocks, steel, and brick collapsing. Dust plumed, coating everything in a grayish ash, and when the sound and the fury finally quieted, he squinted an eye open to find the shield braced above them, covering him, much as he’d covered Steve.

They were trapped together, but they were alive.

“You still breathing, Steve?”

“Yeah,” came the strained response, the ash covering his face cracking slightly as he spoke.

“Hang on. Friday, baby girl, find me a weak point.” At the moment, it felt like they were holding the full weight of the building. At least they hadn’t plummeted through the floor to the basement. The servos in his armor creaked with a warning that his load bearing might have been matched.

A target flickered, up and to the right. There was a concrete column. Dislodge it, and he could make them a hole to escape. “You got this for about twenty seconds, Cap?”

“Do it.” Steve didn’t even ask him what and Tony didn’t take the time to explain, he shifted his grip letting Cap hold it up while he twisted then shoved the column for all he was worth. It dislodged then with an almighty crash carried the rest with it.

Blue sky shone through the hole he’d made and he grasped the edge of the piece Steve held up.

“Go,” he ordered. Steve yanked the shield down, and then he was out. Tony made sure he was clear before letting go and then he followed him.

Outside, the HUD’s flickering increased. Fuck, he’d messed up a lot of systems. They were both panting and Steve looked like an extra from a zombie horror movie as crimson striated through the ash coating his face. Flipping his faceguard up, he sucked in a breath of fresh—albeit dirty air.

A flicker of movement in the distance had him turning, and he caught sight of the littlest girl from the third floor. She looked even scrawnier in daylight, but she waved to him and then froze as if a deer caught in headlights before she vanished into the trees.

“What?” Steve caught him looking, glanced at the girl. “Shit.” Cap staggered, and Tony slammed the faceplate down. Cap dropped. Three huge darts protruded from his neck.

“Cap?” Tony checked the HUD. The signals were all over the place, and Friday wasn’t a comforting voice in his ear. He didn’t see anyone, he couldn’t track anyone…something slammed into his suit. It knocked him sideways. Then another.

Bowling balls.

Well they looked like bowling balls.

Another volley knocked him backwards from Steve who was fighting to get to his feet.

Then another dart hit Cap, this one at his wrist, between his gloves and the sleeve of his body armor.

A hell of a precise shot.

“Go,” Steve wheezed out, even his shield arm going down. Tony still couldn’t track where the attacks were coming from. Whirling, he went for Steve’s arm and hauled him up.

“We gotta get out of here, Cap.”

“Go…” Steve slurred, his eyelids drooping. “Go…Tony…”

“Not leaving you,” he swore trying to get Cap on his feet, his armor protesting, errors flashing on the screens and then something hit the back of his suit and the whole thing just went blank and Steve dropped as the suit arms failed.

He careened sideways. Everything was offline.

EMP.

They hit him with a damn EMP. The new suit was shielded for those, most of his suits were.

The stealth suit wasn’t about combat.

And he was trapped in a damn suit again. The irony?

Captain America was down just a foot away from him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

If it weren’t such a shit show, he might be laughing.

The crunch of footsteps approached. A single set. Then something crashed against his suit and he groaned.

Another crash.

Then the face plate was ripped off.

“Oh great, Gigantor,” Tony said by way of greeting. The blond behemoth with his bloody smile grinned.

“Tony. Stark.” He enunciated his name like they were two separate phrases. “Look good all beaten up.”

“Yeah, still prettier than you big guy.” He smirked. Okay, still just Gigantor. That was good, right? Just one guy.

Big guy hauled him upward, then slammed his fist into the shoulder piece. Fuck that hurt. It rattled Tony around in the suit like a can of soda being shaken too hard. Another punch…

“You know, not that I don’t appreciate the effort…but you do realize you’re not actually hitting me, right?” Another blow and that part of the armor was probably going to crumple. This guy had mallets for fists and he didn’t even seem to care that they were bleeding.

“Tony. Stark. Nothing without _suit_.” Another spit, and Tony took offense.

“Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.” He countered, ticking them off. “Or are those words too big for you to understand?”

The metal on his arm sheared away. The cooler air hit shoulder.

Gigantor smirked, then curled his fingers around the metal chest plate. “Natalia’s Iron Man…send her back empty suit.”

“Nope. I’m Iron Man. Not a difficult thing to understand.” Playing stupid however seemed to give Gigantor a moment, then he shrugged and ripped off the chest plate. It flew across grass to land amongst the debris of the house and just like that, the rest of his suit began to collapse open. It did have some defaults.

“Maybe I keep you…kill you for her later.”

“Not a bad plan,” Tony told him, pulling the gun from inside the suit as his arm came free. He fired as soon as he had it line up. The first bullet went through Gigantor’s cheek, the second through his eye. The man stared at him dumbly, all expression going slack and then he toppled over and landed on his back. “You know…except for the part where I’m a _Genius.”_

Slumping backward, Tony blew out a breath. Suit had been trashed. Cap…shit, Cap! He shoved himself upward, and reached over to pluck out the darts, careful not to let any of them touch his skin.

If they could drop Steve, they’d definitely take him down. Tony hurt all over, but the steady thrum of Cap’s pulse eased the fist of pressure off his chest. “Okay. Cap’s alive. Yay. Now how do we get back up there?”

He looked at his suit, then at Cap, and angled his head to check the sky. A few thousand feet up was a quinjet. Then as if conjured by the thought, wind hit him as if a ship were landing. It was practically silent because Tony’s stealth technology was just that good, but even he couldn’t correct for wind displacement. A handful of moments later, the rear hatch opened out of nothingness and Barnes strode toward him, armed to the teeth.

“Well…first time for everything…” He was actually happy to see the damned Winter Soldier.

The former assassin eyed him, then Steve and slowed when he spotted Gigantor.

“I did that,” Tony told him. “Not to brag or anything. But the bastard just had to peel me out of the armor. Big mistake on his part. Huge.”

Barnes paused, checked the body with a kicked foot, then pointed the SAW at him and fired three more times through the chest, and another through the head, obliterating the three quarters of it Tony had left.

“Jesus. He’s dead Barnes!”

“That’s Yuri,” Barnes informed him, before reaching a hand out to him. Tony paused a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“I can…but I can’t leave the armor…”

“Go, I’ll get it after I carry Steve inside.”

“Chest piece is over there,” Tony said, waving toward the house as he limped toward the hatch. All he got was a grunt in return, but Barnes caught up to him on the ramp, Steve slung over his shoulder and shield attached to his arm. He settled Steve onto the other row of benches across from Nat.

She’d pushed up to her elbows, but had a dazed, and pained expression as she squinted toward the light at the hatch. Most of the interior lights on the quinjet were out. “You’re hurt,” she said, her voice threadier than he’d ever heard it.

“I’ll live, stay put.” He waved a hand at her. “I’m not up for playing dashing hero and picking you up.” As it was, he stumbled over to sit down on the edge of her cot and winced when he landed against her leg. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She looked over at Steve, then at him. “Steve?”

“Drugged.”

Barnes was already back, and he had all of Tony’s armor—including the chest piece and the faceplate. Dropping it with a clatter, he hit the button to close the hatch and strode toward the cockpit. “Stay down, Natalia. I will check Steve after we’re in the air.” He hadn’t even looked at her.

“I guess I can treat me,” Tony muttered, but shut up when Nat gripped his arm. In the dark with only the faint glow from some of the panels, it seemed a lot cozier in here. “James probably doesn’t think you want him touching you.”

“He’s not wrong,” Tony admitted. “Probably just bruised. Suit took the worst of it.” Then he covered her hand with his. “He wasn’t there.”

A soft sigh, and he didn’t have to see her face to know the news disappointed her.

“We’re not done, Red. We’ll get him back.”

She squeezed his arm. “Tell me what happened?”

“Yeah,” he said, then told her all of it and accepted the water bottle from Barnes as he came back to check on Steve. The lights stayed low, and neither he nor Natasha interrupted until he finished.

“You took out Yuri?” Natasha sighed. “Then he was alive too…”

“Yeah. Didn’t sound like your stalker though. This guy couldn’t parse sentences real well.”

“He was always more muscle than brains,” Barnes commented. “He was a mad dog, point him in a direction and he would take it down but he never gave a damn about collateral. Steve’s okay, he’s sleeping. Not finding any other injuries, but it looks like the punk got in a fist fight with a truck.”

Nat sighed.

“You okay? You were pretty out of it…” Tony asked. He checked his watch—hey look it wasn’t broken—four hours had passed while he and Steve had been in the facility? God had it been that long?

They’d been in the labs for a while though.

Instead of answering, Nat squeezed his arm. “Let James help you?”

“In a minute,” he agreed. “Talk to me. You okay?”

“Head hurts. A lot.” Not hiding her pain wasn’t a positive sign where Nat was concerned.

“Friday check you?” And why hadn’t she alerted Tony to the status update?

“She was a little distracted.”

“Baby girl?”

“I’m here Boss. You went offline and I couldn’t reconnect, so I sent Sergeant Barnes down to you.”

“Thanks for that. What’s up with Nat?” He wanted to bring the lights up, and get a good look at her but she’d been squinting.

“It’s a headache, Tony.” Nat said.

“Nothing’s just anything with you, Red.”

“Ms. Romanoff exhibited aural disturbances, light sensitivity, and some numbness upon waking. Initial data suggested a stroke…” Tony’s heart stopped. “…further scans have not encountered any scarring or damaged area of the cerebral cortex. Extrapolation suggests a reasonable side effect to stimulating the hippocampus, and recovery while suffering from a concussion.”

He frowned. “How long have you been awake?”

“About thirty minutes,” Barnes answered. “She was unresponsive, then showed signs of being pained. Neither Friday or I thought it wise to give her anything.”

“It’ll pass,” Natasha said again. “We need to head for Arkangelsk.”

“We still have to check Moscow,” Barnes argued. “Or take you to the chalet. Then we can come back. Barton does not want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die, James. Not before we find Clint, anyway.”

“Red, you’re losing your touch. That’s not a comforting thought.” Tony rubbed his head, and winced. He had more bruises than he realized.

“No, it’s not,” Barnes agreed, shifting over to them with a med kit in his hand. “Is it more than cuts and bruises? Any broken ribs?”

“God I hope not,” Tony said, then sucked in a deep breath. “Probably not,” he said straining to push the words out before he exhaled. “I can breathe. Last time I busted my ribs, I couldn’t.”

Barnes nodded, then took care of cleaning up his face. The man moved with quiet efficiency. He checked his shoulder while he was at it, the blows had definitely bruised the hell out of it, but he was in better shape than Steve. His armor had done what it was designed to do. At least until Yuri the Gigantor overloaded it.

Nat lay quietly, just listening to them he thought, but when he glanced at her—no, she was sleeping. Her breathing was deep and even.

“She downplaying how bad she feels?” He didn’t know why he asked Barnes that, but the man had been crazy protective of her. Chances were, he’d notice things they hadn’t.

“Yes,” Barnes said without disassembling. “She was in a lot of pain before she woke. Though she says it hurts now, I think it is far worse. She could barely talk when the lights were on. If her brain is healing, it is not a comfortable process.”

“Fuck.” He took another swig of the water. Yeah, a bourbon would be great, but no alcohol. Keep it clean. Keep himself sober. They couldn’t afford any mistakes. But a bourbon would taste really good. “I should never have told her about BARF.”

“This is not your fault, Stark.” The comment surprised him and he eyed Steve Rogers’ best friend.

“Not what you said earlier.”

“I was wrong.” A shrug. “I do not like her hurting. I do not want her brain to be toyed with. I have been a tool, and a weapon. I do not want that for her.”

Even though  _that_ had been her life and they both knew it. 

Tony met his gaze. “I don’t want that for her either.”

“Then we will get along.”

And maybe for the first time since he’d met Barnes…even since learning of the role he played in his parents’ death, Tony believed him.

Clint had been taken.

Steve was down.

Nat was in pain.

It was he and Barnes.

“Then we need a plan.”


	39. I only act like I know everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes on the quinjet with Nat to find Tony and Bucky have continued the mission without them.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

_I only act like I know everything_

Steve

 

 

When Steve opened his eyes—correction, when Steve attempted to open his eyes, he half-thought he’d gotten between Mjölnir and Thor. A half-a-blink later, he considered whether it was actually Thor’s Asgardian ale. It actually packed a punch, but he hadn’t had a hangover since ’41.

“Take it easy, Cap.” The bliss of that husky voice offered the sweet balm of relief. He managed to get his eyes open, and found the most beautiful woman in the world gazing down at him. Even the dim light couldn't detract from the mystery in her eyes, the mischief in her smile and the promise of adventure in the quirk of one eyebrow.

She was simply amazing.

“Tasha…” He fumbled a hand to reach up to her, but his limbs weren’t quite cooperating. This was embarrassing. Then she caught his hand and lifted it to her lips.

“Hey, take it easy.” It was only when she repeated the phrase he realized she had another hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him prone. A shift in her posture, and he could see the bruises still littering her face, though the swelling around her eye had gone down.

“You’re awake.” A secondary wave of relief crashed over him. She’d been unconscious when they left. Reality swarmed him. “Tony!” He managed to get to his elbows this time, but Nat half crawled on top of him to halt him. His head swam sickeningly and his stomach lurched.

What the hell?

“Tony is fine. He took out the guy who drugged you. James landed the quinjet and picked both of you up.” The softness of her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb smoothing over the edge of his beard. “You’re safe aboard the quinjet with me. Whatever those darts were loaded with knocked you on your ass, Cap. You’ve been out for almost six hours.”

Six hours.

They didn’t even have anesthesia that could keep him under that long. He knew, it had been a problem in the past but he’d learned to live with it. Surrendering to her urging, he returned to a prone position. There was a pillow beneath his head, and Natasha settled comfortably on his waist. When she would have slid off, he dropped his hands to her hips.

“Stay.”

With a small smile, she settled, then leaned down again to stroke her hand through his hair. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Sorry.” He was. “Just glad you’re okay and Tony got out.”

“You saved each other…at least to hear Tony tell it.” A hint of a smile curved one corner of her mouth. “He’s very proud of tricking Yuri.”

“Yuri?” The named tickled something in the back of his head. “One of the bastards from your graduation tape?”

He loathed that thing. The fact he’d already been in the ice when it happened didn’t change a very real desire to pound that guy.

“One and the same. I didn’t see him, but James did. He apparently put a few more bullets in him, in case Tony’s weren’t enough.” Though she smirked, there was something else beneath those words. A deep sense of satisfaction. Steve gave her hips a squeeze. The guy had packed a hell of a wallop, and Steve had experienced it first hand. He didn’t want to think about Natasha enduring those blows, even if he knew she had.

“Good.” Not normally one to wish others ill, he had no problem with putting down those bastards before they came anywhere near Nat again. Even if she could and had taken care of herself. The hum of the quinjet told him they were still cloaked and maybe in the air, but he didn’t hear… “You should be in this bed.”

It was taking a minute, but his bearings were coming back. The headache receded by inches. Holding Nat might have something to do with it, she was so warm and alive beneath his fingers. Her smile added to the medicinal effect. She was exactly what he needed.

“So James argued, but I wouldn’t let him leave you on the hard bench and I was doing better by the time we got to Moscow.”

He tabled the Moscow comment for the moment. Gliding a hand up her back, he urged her closer with a gentle nudge between her shoulder blades. She curled over him, breast to chest and rested her chin on her hand so she could meet his gaze. He could see her eyes better. “You were in a coma when I left…”

“For about three hours, then I woke with a terrible headache…Friday thinks it was the memories and a concussion. I had to sleep some more, but I’m okay now.” There were tiny lines of tension at the corners of her eyes that even her skilled expression couldn’t quite hide.

“Liar,” he said softly, and smoothed the hair back from her face. “How are you really?”

“Head feels like someone hit me with one of those cartoon anvils.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not very fond of you learning to read me.”

“I kinda like it. And my head’s killing me, too.” When he cupped her unmarked cheek and she leaned into the contact, something loosened in his chest. “I hate seeing you hurting.”

“That makes two of us, Rogers.” There she went, a little distance because he was getting too close. She didn’t try to crawl out of his arms, so he’d let her have it. They had a lot on their shoulders right now. And after what he’d seen…

“Where’s Tony?” For that matter… “Where’s Bucky?”

“They’re hitting the Moscow location.”

Alone? “What?” He shoved upward, sliding his arms around her to keep her stable as he swung his legs over the edge and kept her in his lap. “When?”

“Slow down,” she ordered, catching his chin in her grasp and forcing his gaze to her. Probably a good thing cause the whole world kind of slipped sideways. Nat locked her thighs to his hips and she leaned her weight into him, counterbalancing him and all at once he realized he had been about to fall over and she was keeping him upright. “You are just waking up from a drug load that took you down. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

The stern warning might have been laughable from anyone else.

He didn’t doubt for an instant that Nat would put him on his ass. But it was more the worry for her that kept him still.

“Better. Breathe,” she told him and flattened a palm to his chest as she pulled one of his hands up to rest over her heart, dangerously close to the curve of her breast. “Breathe with me.” He matched the deep, slow breaths and the queasiness abated and with it the vertigo tipping the world around like a top.

“Thanks,” he exhaled and leaned his head forward to rest against hers. She glided a hand up to card through his hair. It eased some of the ache from his head. For a moment, he gazed down at his own hand. Then he eased it away without getting fresh and rested it back on her hip. As provocative as her position was at the moment, there were still some etiquette that should be followed. “Okay, tell me about Bucky and Tony.” In the order of importance, Nat’s health, the health of his friends, and all of their safety came first.

Nat was alive, well, very much awake, and in his arms. As worried as he was about the associated dangers, he had her. She studied him for a moment, as if to assure herself he was okay. He had some bruises, and they ached but he had definitely come through worse and so had she.

His gut sank though—if Tony had gotten hit with those tranquilizers, he’d likely be dead and he didn’t want to imagine what they’d have done to Nat. Though she might have metabolized it as well as he. Still, that thought was going to burn for a bit.

“You still with me?” She gripped his hair a little, just the faintest of tugs. Not remotely painful but it dragged his gaze back to hers.

“Yeah. Fill me in.”

“I woke up a little while after we arrived in Moscow. It took them time to find a secure location to park the quinjet where they could leave us. Tony also had to repair his armor.”

Steve grimaced. It had definitely taken a beating.

“James was already geared up when I woke, and he had been checking on us both. But he was already in mission mode.” Genuine concern shadowed the last part. “But he and Tony worked out a battle plan that basically consisted of James went through the door first, Tony cleaned up behind him. He says he knows this base…and they were ready if anyone tried to trigger him.”

He shared her worry, and he was pretty sure that Tony had rigged Bucky with the kill switch to incapacitate him. Dammit, he should have followed up on that with them. But Bucky had been adamant, and even if Steve hated the very idea. He could respect his need to choose. Shuri believed the work she’d done would weaken if not remove the triggers altogether, but there hadn’t been time to test it. There’d hardly been time to breathe.

“Their plan is probably a lot like what you and Tony did. Get in, get any data, see if they can track Clint and get out.” Something in her voice tugged at him.

“You don’t think Clint is there.”

“I know he isn’t,” she said, as if it had already been decided. “He’s at Arkangelsk. It’s the most secure location, away from dense population centers and the heart of the original Red Room. If they took Clint to make me come to them…then that’s where they’ll be.” She gnawed her lower lip. “They’ve had him for more than a day, Steve…they can do a lot of damage in an hour.”

“He’s going to be fine, Nat.” He eased back on the bed and pulled her down with him. It was better for his head, and hopefully better for hers. She fit right against him, her face burrowed against his neck. “As much as I hate to say it. If they took him to get to you, they’re going to want to keep him fine until you’re there. They can’t torture a dead man in front of you.”

She traced her nails against his chest, even though someone had removed his armored jacket, they’d left him in the long sleeved undershirt. Still there was something relaxing about the pattern she drew. “As terrifying as their threat to remove his arm is,” she said, her voice almost cracking on the word remove. “I’m more worried they’ll put him in a chair or do something else to crack into his mind.”

A shudder rippled through her and he tightened his arms. “We can’t think like that. But I promise you, no matter what. We’re getting him back.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You believe me, yeah?” It was important. Nat kept taking hits, he needed her in a good place mentally. The memories roused by Tony’s tech hadn’t helped. All of a sudden the confirmation of Bucky’s presence in her memories loomed up to face him head on. He’d been too distracted by her condition, then the mission to really think about it earlier. But now…

“I do,” she said, then lifted her head to look at him. Hair fell down to curve against her cheek. “Because you’re damn optimist and you never quit.”

“No I don’t,” he told her, half-promised her. “Are you okay? I mean...it’s a dumb question with Clint, Tatiana…and all of this. But you were using Tony’s thing and…you learned some stuff.” He was really terrible at this, he wanted to dance around it and be gentle. Not ask her point blank if she’d been his best friend’s girl.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d do with that answer.

“You mean the part about having confirmation I worked with the Winter Soldier?” A wry smile.

“With Bucky.”

“No, Steve…with the Winter Soldier. He didn’t have a name then. I don’t even know how much of who he is even now was who he was then.” She bit her lip and sighed, then checked one of the monitors.

Time.

She was checking the time.

“How long have they been gone?”

“Going on three hours.”

“No contact?” If she had updates, he didn’t think she’d be this worried.

A small shake of her head. “Friday will alert me if she loses contact, but we’re right in Moscow. There’s a lot of listening posts here. Even stealth on encrypted channels, that’s a lot of ears.”

“Okay. Tony’s resourceful as hell and Bucky knows what he’s doing.” _I hope._ Bucky seemed to wax and wane between being himself and being someone else altogether. The only place both halves seemed consistent was regarding Nat. That wasn’t the comfort it might have been. Not if… he closed off that line of thinking. She hadn’t answered his earlier question.

“I know,” she said, with a small smile. “I have a lot of faith in Tony.” She didn’t say Bucky, then she made a face. “And we both know James is a one man army.”

That they did.

“Hey.” He nudged her a little, focusing on her eyes. “You can talk to me about Bucky. Knowing him? That’s not a fault. Not remembering him isn’t a fault either.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s…before I didn’t know there was just this sense that I _knew_ him. And in Odessa…I couldn’t shoot him. He shot me. But I couldn’t shoot him. It made me crazy. I remember when I told Clint, he didn’t know what to do with that information. Bless him, he tried. Then…by the time I’d healed and I couldn’t find any evidence of him anywhere…I had to do the assignment at Stark Industries.”

Her armor was down, she was letting him see her. Like she had at Sam’s after Camp Lehigh. Keeping his touch gentle, he rubbed her back. The gentle contact as soothing to him as he hoped it was to her.

“I found trails…things I added to the file I was building. Worked on it in my spare time, but there was New York…and then everything that happened with Clint.”

“Working with me,” Steve reminded her gently. “Bringing me up to speed with the twenty-first century.”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile a little teasing. “You were a lot of work…then he shot Fury. And I thought Fury was dead. Lehigh happened and then the bridge. My first thought was get away, get him away from you. From Sam. From all the people. But he blew you right off the bridge. So I got off the bridge, too. I was going for you, but I saw his shadow on the road and I got the drop on him. Took the shot. Hit his eye. If he hadn’t been wearing goggles…” Her eyes went flat. The thought was unsettling. She might have killed him before Steve ever knew it had been Bucky or she learned the truth of who he was. “You know some people panic when it goes to hell.”

“You don’t,” he reminded her. “You’re incredible. You don’t quit either.”

“A lot of that is training, Rogers.”

“Sure,” he agreed with her. “But most of it is you, Natasha. You faced down the Hulk, you got your best friend back from mind control, you tricked a god, you taught an old soldier new tricks…you built a new life for yourself. Yeah, things went wrong, but when the hard fight comes—I want you in my corner. Always. You’re the one I know I can count on.”

“Even after the Accords?” She raised her eyebrows. “Steve, I tracked you all to the airport. I’m the reason we were there to stop you.”

Yeah, he could have guessed that. Had at the time. It didn’t matter. “You were also the one who came through for me at the end. You let me and Bucky go. And it _cost_ you. My point stands.” She never seemed to understand just how truly incredible she was. If he had to spend the rest of their lives proving it to her, then…hell. He was up to it. She was his best friend, too. Even if…even if she turned out to be Bucky’s girl. He’d find a way to deal with that, he wasn’t losing his friend.

Not again.

“All that and now…now I have the memory of meeting him then. And I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s fair.” God, he wanted to be so selfish with her. But it wouldn’t be fair to her or Bucky. She deserved a chance to know her own heart. “Not sure how I feel about you risking the device again, but—I’ll be here for you if you do. You deserve to know your past. If you want to know it.”

“You’re being awfully understanding,” she told him. “Could you be a little less perfect please?”

He snorted. “I’m hardly perfect.”

“You made it very clear you’re willing to make a move on me.”

“Correction,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her chin. “I did make a move on you. At least twice.”

“Well…yes, three if you count the morning breath aborted kiss.” A flash of teasing softened her expression.

“Then definitely three.” She’d been biting her lips, they were perfectly plump, and a little red. Even battered and bruised, she was everything. “I liked all three.” Even the aborted one. Because she’d let him know she was interested, too. But it was all so _new_. New and they barely had time to themselves.

“Okay…but you’re still being incredible. Steve, I don’t know what James was to me yet. I know he was important, and the way he acts…”

“He cares about you Nat,” he told her, and he weighed admitting to her what Bucky had said about her in Venice, he wasn’t sure he should. Maybe she needed to know, but that was also between he and Bucky. “He really cares about you. I’m not blind. I can see it.”

“But he doesn’t know the whys either…we know he remembers some after the tape. He remembered trying to help me, even though I hadn’t known him then. It would be wishful thinking to think that was all it was…”

She shifted and suddenly he was aware of the comfort of her pressing all along him. His headache had been gradually receding as they spoke. “Did he say anything to you about the meeting?”

A little shake of her head. “I was hurting too much, and he was getting agitated because he hadn’t heard from you or Tony.”

He was probably more agitated she hadn’t woken up. It had taken everything in Steve to leap out with Tony, to do the mission and leave her here with Bucky. He knew Bucky would protect her, but…

“We’ll figure it out,” he told her.

“What if we figure out that…he and I were together? I mean I don’t know how we would have hidden that. They knew everything about me…the hardest part of freedom was actually having it. Then I couldn’t stand surveillance, or having anyone track me.”

“I think we’re aware of that last part.” He wanted to keep it light, but she continued to stare at him so he sighed. “I don’t know. I know I care about you. I know I’m not going anywhere. I know…that I want to try and build something with you. Bucky’s my best friend…and you’re…”

“Rogers if you say best girl…” she gave him a look, then she stretched forward and brushed her lips to his. Closing his eyes, he cradled her head and opened his mouth, gently. Nat climbed him like a cat and then her tongue teased his and she chased away every thought. Small, delicate, and absolute fierce, she took possession of his mouth and Steve gave everything she asked for and when she let out a little sighing groan, he delved his tongue against hers.

There was something sinful, and sweet lying there with her tightly pressed against him, holding her in his arms, as she devoured his mouth and let him devour in return. It was like sparring, only far more sensuous and he was dizzy for an entirely new reason. When she rolled her body, the motion ground her pelvis against his, and he groaned. Everything about Natasha appealed to him, and suddenly his body was awake and stiffening in places he couldn’t hide from her while they lay this close. Baseball statistics were not going to cut it.

With aching slowness, she broke the kiss and Steve blinked his eyes open to gaze up at her. Kiss swollen and perfect, she released a shuddering breath. He tracked the way her tongue glided over her lower lip, and he couldn’t help but mirror the action. The taste of her lingered on his lips, something sweet—almost like fruit, and the rest all her.

Kissing Natasha was like a taste test of all his favorite flavors, and unable to choose which one he liked best. The nibble, the slow, and wet, the quick and fierce—they were all decadent treats and he wanted to discover more.

“I like _this_ ,” she told him.

He grinned, even as heat rose in his ears and his face. Yeah, he blushed and he’d long since gotten over ducking away from it. When a girl as gorgeous as she was and as smart, and kind, and fierce…and every other fantastic word he could use to describe her said she liked kissing him—then hell he didn’t mind blushing. He loved it.

“I like _this_ too. Just wish I’d said something a hell of a lot sooner,” he had to admit the last because…because dammit he’d nearly lost this before he’d gathered the courage to make a move.

She glanced at the timer again, and her eyes narrowed, almost squinting when she did. The bruising still littered half her face, though he thought it didn’t look as dark as it had. Worry had her lips pursing, then her expression relaxed as she returned her attention to him. How much was because he genuinely made it better and how much because she didn’t want him to worry?

He’d almost bet it was fifty-fifty, and he adored her for wanting to protect him. At the same time, he didn’t want her exerting herself.

“Why didn’t you?” The question surprised him, but he didn’t shy away from the directness in her gaze. “Why didn’t you…before?” Leipzig was always going to be a sore point. If it took him a thousand apologies, he’d never stop making it. His choices had hurt a lot of people, but they’d hurt her. He and Tony and everyone else had hurt her, because they wouldn’t compromise. They wouldn’t talk it out. He kind of wanted to, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what would happen when he wouldn’t back down from Tony.

Neither of them knew how to quit.

He pushed himself upward again, coiling his arms around her to keep her stable. She didn’t argue, just watched him with those eyes that always saw too much. Upright, he scooted back on the cot until he settled against the bulkhead and had a lapful of Natasha. That she went pliant and let him settle her against him. After snagging one of the bottles of water from the edge of the cot, he opened it and offered it to her first.

A smile, and she took it. She drank more than half, and something eased in his chest. The pain in her head, the fact she’d been unconscious for one mission and had sat out a second—told him a great deal of how she was feeling. Not that she would appreciate him knowing as much.

She waited until he finished off the bottle, and had the second in hand before she tilted her head. Her eyes were a little wider, not quite squinting and none of the low lights from across the quinjet were in her line of sight. Yeah. Her head was definitely still bothering her. The drugs must be metabolizing out of his system. A good many of the hangover symptoms were already abating. Another hour and he’d probably be fine.

His turn to glance at the clock. That would mean he’d been dosed enough to be out cold for six, and still rough going for another two.

Their enemies had something that could take him down so easily. That was not a cheery thought.

“When I met you…on the hellicarrier. You took my breath away,” he said. “But it didn’t happen all at once, it was like…being on the comet at Coney Island, it started off as a challenge, but then it whipped me up to speeds I hadn’t expected and before I knew it I couldn’t catch my breath and I thought my heart would explode.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “But you never took a ride on this rollercoaster.”

Really? He raised both eyebrows and gave her a look because if he responded to that tease, he’d give right into the urge to strip her out of her soft shirt and jeans, and kiss her until she was breathless.

Hell, if they were _anywhere_ else, he might do it anyway.

“Sorry,” she said, but her twitching lips told him she was so much _not_ sorry.

“Hmm. But the thing was…we had a mission. And I wasn’t all the way here yet. I was still wrestling with the fact that the woman I loved…” He hesitated because he wasn’t sure whether it was unfair to Peggy or Natasha or both to confess this.

“Peggy,” she said gently, tangling her fingers with his. She wasn’t quite leaning into him anymore, but she didn’t leave his lap or pull away. “You’d really just lost Peggy, and the life you could have had with her. You were mourning your whole world being gone.”

“You know what that’s like.” It crystalized for him. Nat had done that. Nat had lost her world—maybe by choice at first when she defected, but then SHIELD, and Leipzig.

“You know I do. You never have to worry about saying her name or the reverence you still feel for her. I think it’s kind of beautiful that anyone can care that much.” The lightest of strokes, her thumb glided along the side of his hand. His knuckles were still a little sore, but the bruising there was nothing next to the gentleness of her touch.

“Thank you…so yeah, I was grieving Peggy, trying to figure this world out and you were…stunning. Strong. Smart. Of every person in that room, you seemed to know exactly why you were there and what you wanted from all of us. Clear, achievable goals.” She wanted her partner back, and Steve had assumed…

“You thought Clint and I were together.” It wasn’t a question.

“In my defense, a lot of people thought you two were together. Even Stark did.” Steve shrugged. “We had a lot on our plates, and the more I got to know you—the more I saw how incredible a dame you were. Working with you…it made even the worst parts of SHIELD palatable. I could deal with it because I got to see you most days.”

And in the beginning, he’d had a lot of questions about the agency’s dealings. Looking back, he had to wonder if Fury had read him like a book and set Natasha in his path to distract him.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

It had worked regardless.

“You trained me—you kicked my ass.”

“Language, Captain.” But her expression softened with a teasing smile. “Though, I did kick your ass a lot, at least until you got over the need to hold back with me.”

“Nat…you saved me. You dragged me into the twenty-first century with your movies and TV shows and taking me out to sight see like some tourist any time we were both free. You coached me on the lingo, and you crashed on my sofa so much I thought you didn’t have your own place. At least not one you’d let me see…and two things happened.” He lifted her hand to him, her knuckles were in much better shape, the scabbed and bloodied knuckles had the faintest of pink marks. Her body was tackling her physical injuries in order of severity. The bruising was probably there because of whatever the device had done inside of her head.

His body did that, but he’d never really tried to catalog it before. After pressing a kiss to her palm, he held her hand to his chest and just kept it there. “You became my friend, my best friend. A place no one but Bucky had ever really occupied. Not even the Commandos…they saw me as Cap. I was this crazy guy who walked out of the darkness into the hellhole and got them out. But to Bucky, and then you? I was just Steve. I could be Steve and I remembered how to be Steve.”

Her smile grew. “I’m glad. What was the second thing?”

“You still had Barton. And a guy doesn’t make a move on another guy’s dame.”

She leaned her head back and he thought she would groan, but instead she laughed. “Clint and I did that on purpose, you know.” Straightening, she met his gaze. “Not to you on purpose, and I think…I got sloppy, I forgot to remember you weren’t in on it.”

“You let people believe you two were together so they’d never look for his family.” It wasn’t a guess, after meeting Laura and the kids, it had seemed so clear he could have hit himself for being an idiot.

“Clint’s so laid back, but—he’s a dangerous guy and he has a lot of enemies, and after New York they were inside SHIELD as much as outside. The temptation to strike back at him, to hurt him for what happened when Loki controlled him…”

Steve frowned. “Wait, you expected they might come for you to punish him?”

A little shrug. “It wouldn’t have ended well for them.” It was so matter of fact. “But the point was, if Hawkeye was with the Black Widow, they’d never look for another soft spot to hurt him. It protected Laura and the kids.”

“And you two didn’t tell the rest of us because…?”

“Habit mostly and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this Captain Rogers,” she lifted one brow even as her tone grew more arch. “I don’t trust very easily. I expect people to disappoint, to have their own agendas and to use whatever personal footholds in a life they can get.”

“I might have come to a similar conclusion,” he murmured, marveling at how tiny her hand was and how neatly he could cover it with his. Just like he could wrap himself over her to shield her, he could cup his hand around hers and keep it safe against his chest.

If only he could keep her this safe all the time.

“And I hate to admit it, but it didn’t occur to either of us that the Avengers were long-term.”

Now that surprised him. “Why not?”

“I was still a full-time SHIELD agent, Clint was part-time for a while, and you were on STRIKE with me, and there was always another mission. There was always somewhere else Fury needed me to be. Even when I was with all of you…”

“He always pulled you away.” His teeth clicked for a moment and he had to forcibly relax his jaw. “I got in his face about that once.”

Natasha blinked. “Wait. What?”

Oh, shocking Natasha was not easy. In fact, it was damn near impossible and he couldn’t stop the spread of his grin. “It was after the op in the Philippines, when we busted the tech smugglers?” Another of Fury’s janitorial projects, but these guys had been dealing in Chitauri weaponry. They definitely needed to go. “We’d literally just sealed the last crate for shipment and you got that call, with a grin and a wave, you were off to another op—alone with zero downtime. That was bad enough, but you called it a milk run.” Hopefully she read the frown on his face for the reproach it was. “Three weeks later, I see you for the first time, bruised, battered, and still limping in a briefing for another op—this one an undercover that took you away for a month.”

“Steve…”

“No. You were in the middle of that op when STRIKE got called to deal with terrorists holding the embassy in Chile. I didn’t even know you were going to be there until you boarded the quinjet when it made a stop on the way. You sailed in with that sassy smile, and evasive answers about where you’d been. We barely get them shut down, and you’re off again and do you remember what you said?”

Nat winced. “Sorry Rogers, I put a pin in it, but I gotta go pull it back out now. See you later?”

“Hmm.” It had pissed him off. Not at her. But at those who were supposed to be looking after her. “Soon as I was back at the Triskelion, I was in Fury’s office. I didn’t plan on leaving until I had your location, sit rep, and when you would be back. Then I wanted Fury to leave you the hell alone. You were on my team—both of them—and if he couldn’t tell me what he was doing with my people, he wasn’t allowed to touch them.”

“Oh, I would have paid money to be a fly on the wall for that.” Then she grinned. “Nah, I’d have sat right there and just watched.”

No she wouldn’t have. He knew her well enough to know she’d have gotten quietly irked with him for daring to decide she belonged to anyone and then she’d have done something out of spite for both he and Fury.

“He was less than impressed and suggested he remove you from both the Avengers and STRIKE if I had such a problem with you being occupied elsewhere.” Damn if that hadn’t just pissed him off even more. “I told him if he did it, I was out. The only reason I was even willing to work with SHIELD was because of you…”

“Oh Steve,” she whispered then sank her teeth into her lower lip. “You didn’t?”

“Yeah. I figured it out later…I handed him the leverage he’d been looking for.” And he had. It didn’t matter what mission after that was, if Nat called him for extraction or picked him up. He went. “It was exactly how he got me on the Lemurian Star.”

She canted forward and pressed her lips to his, a gentle kiss, not there and yet full with the wealth of meaning. A thank you. An apology. An alliance. “You never said anything.”

“Didn’t have to. Didn’t want you out there without me at your back or Barton and they weren’t sending him to back you up. You kept coming back so hurt, and…I thought if I were there.”

“I’m a big girl Rogers.”

“I know you are, I know exactly what you’re capable of and I admire the hell out of you. I meant it when I said I want you covering my back. If that meant doing Fury’s dirty work too, then I’d be right there with you.” He wasn’t proud. He could own the choices he made. “Then SHIELD fell and Bucky…and you were in the wind.” He could have kicked himself a thousand times over. “I had no one to blame for that except me. I wanted you to help me with Bucky when I should have been helping you with your covers or whatever it was.”

“Hey now, you had to find your best friend. I didn’t want you to then…because I didn’t want him to have another shot at you. But you were right, if it were Clint…” Like it was right now, and she didn’t have to say that. “I wouldn’t stop either. No matter what.”

Smoothing a hand over her hair, he tucked a strand of it behind her ear. “After Ultron…and Bruce.” The last bit earned him a wry smile. “I thought I’d missed my window. I told Bruce…look I told him as the king of waiting too long, he shouldn’t miss a chance with you if he had it. I didn’t know how it happened between the two of you. But if he made you happy? I’d have found a way to live with it.”

“I liked the idea of it.” The admission startled him. She didn’t talk about Bruce, not after he and the other guy just took off. “The idea of being someone quiet, and restrained, and who had all this power but wouldn’t use it. Who didn’t _want_ to use it. Maybe I thought I wanted to be someone else. I was really tired…exposed and raw from my file being out there, still trying to understand how I missed what was happening in SHIELD.”

She made a face and he gave her a little encouraging squeeze. “I’m not judging.” A flash of a smile eased her expression and she laughed. He got more of the modern idioms than he cared to use, but now and then—they really fit.

“Maybe I am a little. I wanted to feel safe. The other guy—he nearly killed me on the hellicarrier. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. He caught me with a backhand, just a love tap and I went flying, hit some containers so hard I froze…I hadn’t frozen in decades and I just stared at him as he stomped toward me and thought, well, Romanoff. This is it. At least it’s going to be quick.”

He tightened his fingers, as a stillness raged through him. She’d _never_ said this before. Never talked about what happened. They knew, they all knew something had but…

“My only regret was Clint was still out there…and if we got him back, he’d be so mad at me for dying. But I convinced Bruce to come in, they sent me because they trusted me to seduce his cooperation. So it was my fault that he was there for Loki to use…” She shook her head. “Then Thor saved me. He hit the other guy and dragged him off and I just…sat there. By all rights I should have been dead and I couldn’t figure out how I was alive. I am trained for everything Steve…every form of combat, but there was no way I could beat him. Nothing. I’d have been a smear on the pavement.”

“You’re not,” he reminded her, needing to remind himself.

“I know, but for a while there…it shook everything about me. Everything I knew about me. I got Clint back, I could do that. Then I fought aliens—didn’t know I could do that.”

“You flew off my shield like a damn angel taking flight,” he reminded her. “You didn’t stop. You kept thinking even when the rest of us were just trying to keep the chitauri numbers down.”

A little shrug. “I’m just glad it worked. But yeah…I was terrified of Bruce after that. Even when he showed up and I told him we could use a little worse, there was this part of my mind shrieking to get the hell away from him. But we needed him. And later…later it wasn’t fair to Banner for me to be so uncertain around the other guy. It was a weakness, a chink that could be exploited.”

Natasha didn’t let anyone exploit them if she could help it.

“So you spent all that time with him, with the other guy—the lullaby—all of it, because you didn’t want the rest of us weak?” He didn’t know whether to kiss her or throttle her.

“More or less, and don’t get me wrong—I really do like Bruce, liked him anyway. But when he came for me in cell where Ultron had me locked away. He was…he was ready to run. To just go and I’d said something about running away, a moment of whimsy after Wanda ripped open that buried part of my mind and I thought wouldn’t it be great to not have to live this life to not always be vigilant.”

Disbelief curled through him. Natasha hadn’t run. She’d…

“He didn’t want to let the other guy out,” she said her head tilting in quiet apology. “He wanted to be away from civilians, and take the risk of something with me. I’d done it, I’d seduced him into compliance.” Nothing of pride reflected in her voice. “I’d gotten over my own fear, and I’d brought him around to the point he _trusted_ me. Then I shoved him off a cliff because we didn’t _need_ Bruce. We needed the other guy.”

“Jesus Nat,” he whispered, then dragged her closer when she would have pulled away. He felt in every tense coil of her muscles. “No, I’m not mad at you. Listen. You made the hard call. You chose to save others rather than yourself. You’ve done that a hundred times. Maybe Bruce wasn’t the guy for you, but betraying him _still_ bothers you. And if he left because of your choice—then that’s on him.” Just like Steve leaving her at Leipzig, and Vienna…that was on Steve. “You saved lives. The other guy being there _saved_ lives.”

Then she shook her head. “I tell myself that…not quite as compellingly as you. But yeah, after that even the idea of a relationship was gone again and so much smoke.”

“It was your turn to mourn,” he reminded her as straightforwardly as she had been about Peggy. “Whether you and Bruce were an idea or a reality, you still grieved it. And we had new Avengers to train and…it was on you and me. We were what held them together, got them working as a team, and even when we’d be sitting in the office late having a drink and going over training rosters—and all I wanted to do was hold you like this—it wasn’t the right time.”

“And then the Accords.”

“Like I said, I’m the leading authority on waiting too long.” He’d made his peace with it. “That’s why I came…yeah I told myself it was so you could help Bucky, but I’d left you and you were out here…I couldn’t wait for you to find me again, because what if you didn’t?”

She cupped his cheek, smoothing his beard down. The touch soothed him, offering him an intimacy he’d so long desired but hadn’t had the courage to reach for. “I don’t…I don’t have to keep trying to remember. Maybe we can take this guy without knowing what I know—whatever it is that I can’t remember I know.”

_Oh sweetheart._

“Nat,” he said firmly, nudging her chin up so he held her gaze. “Those memories are _yours_. I won’t lie, it twists me up in knots to think you and Bucky had something, but not just because I’d be jealous. But because they _took_ it from you. All I know about your life before Clint was how horrible and lonely you had to have been. If Bucky gave you even a moment of peace, a safe place amidst all that darkness, I will _never_ begrudge either of you that.”

“See…perfect,” she admitted but there were tears in her eyes.

“Tell me the truth,” he pressed on, needing to say this before his courage failed all three of them. “Do you want to know your past? Do you want to have all the pieces back?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “Not knowing is…”

“…a weakness someone else could exploit.” He finished for her, then brushed his thumb over her full lower lip. God, he loved her mouth. It was the perfect shape for kisses, hot and dirty or slow and wet, or just gentle and sweet. “It’s also _yours_. It was taken away from you without your consent.” So much had been stripped from her that way.

“We don’t know it was without my consent,” she reminded him, but he shook his head. Natasha wouldn’t willingly subject herself to something so invasive if it hadn’t been coerced.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still yours. It’s yours—and some if may very well be Bucky’s.” He’d seen Bucky’s face when the hologram reflected her first meeting with him in that training room, how he’d leaned forward as if to catch every word and how he’d soaked in the new knowledge, a new shared puzzle piece between them.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she confessed.

“I know you don’t.” And he did. “I trust you Nat.” The ripple of surprise she couldn’t quite hide fast enough broke his heart. He needed to tell her that more, and often. “And I’m here for you, and for Buck…’til the end of the line. You aren’t going to lose me. No matter what.”

Bucky’s declaration that he wasn’t going to back down might have had him retreating before. Maybe before Leipzig. But he’d nearly lost Nat a half dozen times because he’d done _nothing_.

“I’m really good at waiting,” he promised her and earned an exasperated smile for his efforts. “But I’m also very fond of this, too.” Then he curled his hand around her nape and tugged her forward. Her lips were on his and he sank into the kiss, pressing every feeling he wouldn’t say aloud to her. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to hear it, no matter how true it was. Deepening the kiss, he drowned in the sensation of her pressed against him, safe in his arms and letting him have this intimacy.

When he finally managed to come up for air, he met her half-lidded gaze and smiled, “If that’s all right with you, ma’am.”

“You know what Rogers…” But her lips were curving and she tightened her grip on him.

“Yeah,” he promised her. “I do—”

“Captain Rogers, Ms. Romanoff,” Friday interrupted and she sounded most apologetic. “Boss and Sergeant Barnes are on their way back. They might have pursuers, local military seems to be aware of their presence…” The AI didn’t mention Clint, and the flash of disappointment in Nat’s eyes told him she’d heard it too.

Nat disentangled herself from him immediately, and they were both on their feet. He stabilized her with a hand on her elbow when she swayed, her kiss swollen lips and mussed hair a down payment on future opportunities. “You good?” He checked. His headache had almost vanished and while he was still tired, he wasn’t dizzy anymore.

“I’m getting there.” Squeezing his arm, she headed for the cockpit. “I’m not going to pass out and you have to be sitting on your ass to fly. So I’ll get the quinjet ready, you cover them?”

“Works for me.” He grabbed his armored jacket and pulled it on, then checked his boots before grabbing his shield. “ETA Friday?”

“Six minutes Captain. Russian Special Forces began scrambling two minutes ago.”

“That’s going to be cutting it close,” Nat said over her shoulder.

“They’ll make it,” Steve told her, then said, “If we have to, we’ll pick them up.”

They had to be playing it close because they didn’t want to lead their pursuers to Nat and Steve. While he appreciated the thought, no one was getting left behind.

“Friday, keep me updated. Nat, get us ready to fly.”

“Aye aye Captain,” came the saucy response and he grinned.

“Four minutes, Captain. Sergeant Barnes has distracted their pursuers, for now.”

Of course he had.

He was Bucky.

“Understood.”

“Good to go here.” Nat called. “And Cap?”

“Yeah?” He glanced toward the cockpit to find her looking at him.

“I trust you, too.”

Her grin answered his own.

“Good.”

“And that waiting problem you have?” She added and he laughed. “I can help you with that.”

“I know you can,” he said, smile undiminished. “I’m counting on it.”

She could do anything. They’d figure this out.

Together.


	40. Let's beat them into shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky raid the Moscow station, and Bucky remembers more.

Chapter Forty

_Let’s beat them into shape_

Bucky

 

 

Leaving Steve unconscious with Natalia while she was so unsteady felt like a betrayal on both fronts. Though she’d assured him she would be fine, and that she would rest while looking after Steve, he hadn’t wanted to go. Nor had Stark for that matter. He’d done a patch job on the stealth armor, delaying their departure. The Soldier recognized the tactic, but didn’t complain.

Natalia wasn’t acting like herself. Yes, she’d been in pain but there had been something in her eyes and in her voice… It threw him. Maybe it was the fact she’d allowed them to bully her into resting. Not once had the gleam in her eyes suggested another plan.

And he could read her. Bucky wasn’t sure why it made him uncomfortable at all, but the Soldier—Natalia seemed raw, as if layers of training and security had been erased. Stark worried about the pain in her eyes, and the Soldier and Bucky were both in agreement, they didn’t want her in pain.

But pain could be managed. Natalia understood pain.

_This_ was something else.

The bracelet, still secure on her wrist, was a tracker. Instinct said to secure another somewhere on her she didn’t know. But he had neither the resources nor enough of an explanation to convince Stark in the limited quarters.

When the time came, Stark extracted a promise from her. One she hadn’t even massaged to create a loophole. She wouldn’t leave the quinjet until they returned. She wouldn’t follow them. Stay put. Then he’d added make sure Steve didn’t either. Until they knew what was going on with him.

Natalia simply agreed and it set off warning bells with the Soldier.

Fifteen minutes after leaving her, the Soldier sat in the shadows of Lubyanka Square with Stark a foot behind him. They were dressed in long coats to cover the Soldier’s arm, and Stark’s armor. He’d give the man some credit, the metal didn’t clank as he moved. It had been relatively quiet, though Stark hadn’t liked leaving his helmet off for the time being.

“You might have mentioned this place is the headquarters for the FSB,” the other man complained.

“You didn’t ask,” he answered with a shrug. “It was also the central headquarters for the KGB.” That got his attention. The Soldier knew Lubyanka square and all of its buildings quite intimately. The square itself was synonymous with executions, violence and torture. Most citizens avoided it if they could, and on evenings like the one they were taking advantage of—it wasn’t packed with comrades rushing to or from. Those who worked in the square kept their heads down, and those who worked in this building…they knew better than to draw attention to themselves.

Then again it had never been about the ones you saw coming.

“You said you could get us through their security.” The challenge that he couldn’t rested firmly in Stark’s tone, but there was something else that Bucky recognized. A dare to prove him wrong. Never let it be said Bucky Barnes couldn’t rise to the occasion.

“I can.” The timing had to be right though. Impatience rolled off Stark, he wanted to ask questions, but they weren’t in the most secure of locations and the billionaire seemed to recognize it. A clock tolled in the distance.

If Lubyanka had one weakness (it had several), then its most exploitable was the adherence to timetables. Even as the bell tolled, the main doors opened and comrades poured out, bundled against the cold and hurrying along. Some would go to their homes. Some to a bar. Some might even be off in search of an evening’s entertainment.

But the important part was three-quarters of the general staff would be absent leaving the building in the hands of those who guarded the prison, and the handful who would patrol its quiet corridors. Since he and Stark needed a different area all together, it would work to their advantage.

“Follow,” he told Stark as he stepped out of the shadows, timing it to flow with the throng. It was a square and had definitive access and egress points for foot traffic. Vehicles still traversed the square, and while once upon a time it had been the ideal spot to hail a cab—there had always been more than required—most used it to bypass between the more industrial and business areas of Moscow and the residences and night life. It was a bulwark between what the motherland required and what they desired.

Five minutes later as he lead him to a hidden access in the stone facing, Stark grunted. “Nice.” It took pressure to release the secret door, and it was how the Soldier come and gone from the building.

A flash of red hair in the corner of his eye made him glance, but she wasn’t there. Seeing himself in her memories had unsettled him, because he had no clear recollection of that same moment. Yet, he couldn’t focus on it. Not yet. He’d spent the hours while Stark and Steve raided Volgograd drinking in the sight of her as he waited for her to wake and trying to jog that memory loose for himself.

It hadn’t worked—exactly. The one memory he’d freed had…

“How is this area not guarded?” Stark demanded in a puzzled whisper. They made their way along the maintenance corridor. No surveillance cameras were placed in this area. No one wanted recordings of who came and who went.

“Department X existed within the KGB, and even now nestles within the FSB. But they did not answer to those masters.” Would Stark understand the implications? The Soldier believed so. Some protocols still held sway over him. Discussing the department with an outsider would be grounds for reconditioning… _I’m not going back in that damn chair._

The fierce thought, all Bucky, buoyed the Soldier. The two arrived at a united agreement on the last. Still, it was better that Stark _didn’t_ ask for more explanation.

In fifteen meters the hall appeared to dead end next to a broad set of elevator doors. It had been installed some time during the building’s initial construction, then upgraded. The interior itself was a death trap, Bucky pushed on a brick on the wall, and it groaned before a door opened to another hidden door that opened into a stairwell.

“Paranoia…it wasn’t just a propaganda tool was it?” Stark commented, checking the corridor behind them before following him inside.

“No,” Bucky said, amused at the man’s droll delivery. Not for the first time, he wished the Soldier’s own history with Stark were less soaked in blood. The man seemed worth knowing, but he’d expended any goodwill he might ever have earned long before they met.

Shunting the regret to the side, and tucking it into a compartment near his concern for Natalia and the longing to return to her, he took point. When the door closed behind them, leaving them in the dimly lit stairwell, Stark’s breathing changed—subtly, but noticeably. With every flight they descended, it grew a little more strained. A glance at him revealed sweat trickling along the side of the man’s face, his expression strained. Though he didn’t move slowly or indicate any sign of physical injury, nerves radiated off of him.

Panic.

A sweeping scan of the stairwell revealed no cameras. Even when the Soldier was a regular visitor, they didn’t monitor this area. He was one of the only ones who used it. It wouldn’t do for someone outside the circle to have proof of the Winter Soldier’s existence. Perhaps those who remained had even forgotten of its existence?

Just another relic of a bygone era.

Like him.

Like Steve.

Like Natalia.

He listened intently as they descended, his steps silent on the stairs. Stark’s barely made a hushing noise. The Soldier approved. Another glance at Stark revealed the man had paled beneath his tan, and his perspiration gleamed against his waxy skin.

Definitely a panic attack.

Understanding the issue brought him a rush of clarity. He’d talked others through similar unease. An image of a scrawny Steve fighting to catch his breath as he warred between asthma and his anger—Bucky had just scooped him out of another alley, his face bloody and his eyes full of righteous fury. Steve wanted to go after the guy, but Bucky wouldn’t let him. His knuckles were already bloodied and Steve couldn’t breathe. The refusal had turned Steve’s anger onto Bucky, and he’d let it. Dragging him up flight after flight to Steve’s apartment to patch him back together while the smaller man lashed out. By the time they reached his mom’s place, Steve’s temper had played out and he’d been willing to let Bucky clean him up.

Another image of a lean, and trim Natalia hugging a wall, a hundred feet above the ground as they made their way to the perch where they would assassinate the Chinese ambassador arced across his mind’s eye. The ambassador had gotten out of hand and thought he had the right to flaunt Soviet secrets. High winds made the climb, and subsequent edging along the narrow ledge precarious. Natalia’s balance didn’t fail her once, but a strong gust had almost dislodged her from the stone facing. Only his hand locked against her back kept her in place. He’d told her a story about some goats that had risen unbidden. By the time they reached the top, she’d been laughing and her fear if not gone, at least repurposed.

Panic could overwhelm.

It could kill.

It dulled the senses and ignited a powerful loop of danger, constantly feeding it adrenaline until…

Stark needed a distraction.

Yelling at the Soldier would be counter intuitive to the success of the mission. Not to mention it might alert others to their presence.

Fairy tales didn’t seem the man’s speed either.

Knowledge.

Stark was always hungry to know more. He asked questions about everything, and the Soldier hadn’t missed his horrified fascination as Natalia’s memories played out. Neither he nor Steve had been able to look away. Natalia remembered in Russian and the language barrier stymied until Friday translated quietly. Bucky had ignored them, even as the Soldier kept wary watch, yet he and the Soldier had also soaked in the history she shared.

Stark needed a story, but a different one. One designed to snag his interest.

A puzzle piece.

Mission parameters accepted.

“Lubyanka Square has a bloody history that some said lead to the Red Room,” he kept his voice pitched low, but the slowing of Stark’s rapid breathing told him he heard. “In the 18th century, a noblewoman settled in an exclusive set of apartments located on the square. Then, the Privy Chancellery, the secret department of the Imperial secret police was located nearby…not in this building. But two over. They routinely handled torture of seditionist against the czars.”

“Huh,” Stark grunted. “Next you’re going to tell me there’s some super ancient order’s crazy power source drawing all the secrets to one place.” The quip accompanying the deeper breathing was a good sign.

Bucky shrugged. “Wouldn’t know about that, but most societies have bad habits they can’t break. Lubyanka is one of them.”

Whether Stark agreed with the observation or not, he seemed hungry for more. “So what about the noblewoman?”

Holding up one hand, Bucky asked for silence as they arrived five stories below the building. No sounds of alert. No stomp of marching feet. He eased the door open at the base of the stairs, like the one above, it was tucked into the seams of the wall. A hiss of cooler air flooded the stuffy stairwell, and he got a look outside.

No guards.

So sloppy.

A sweep to the other side showed it deserted as well.

Still, no cameras.

Karpov would be appalled they let the lax security remain. Then again, he hadn’t wanted witnesses. This had been his little fiefdom down here. Few knew about it. Fewer still came and were actually allowed to leave.

There was a bone room ten meters to his right and around the corner. He wouldn’t take Stark there. Though it would be entertaining to pay a call on Karpov’s tomb and piss on his bones.

“Darya Saltykova was the name of the noble woman,” the Soldier continued leading left, he still spoke quietly. If someone ahead were alerted to them, quiet conversation would be less of a threat than moving in precise silence. Oddly, normality was expected even in the most abnormal of locations. “In the house of Saltykova, she regularly maimed and killed serfs for her pleasure.”

“Jesus.”

“Today you would call her a sadist. She was the daughter of aristocratic family, married into the family of another aristocrat. The public saw her as a devout Christian, while the powerful circles saw her as the model of civility in an age of gentility. It was rumored she was even the occasional lover and favorite of the Catherine the Great.” The last was a little embellishment on his part, but it could have been true. “The face she showed the world was quite different from who she was behind closed doors…”

The hallway reached an intersection. To go straight would take them to the dormitory, a series of cell like rooms where staff could catch a nap or short rest if they could not afford to leave. To the right was the medical facilities…

They used to have a chair there.

He went right.

The left could wait a short while more.

“It bothering you that _no one_ is down here?” Stark asked absently.

Another shrug. “Perhaps it is abandoned. The destruction of Azzano, Prague, and Volgograd gave them plenty of time.” Or more likely this was nothing more than a front, a place to keep their heads low in Moscow, hiding right beneath the surface of their premier security services.

Department X had done it for decades.

“Having servants flogged was hardly something new for her era.” It was hardly new for the era in which he’d served Department X or Natalia for that…an image of her gripping a metal bar, her knuckles white and her skin slick with blood and sweat burned the backs of his retinas. She had been flogged.

Nausea swam through him because it was his hand wielding the whip.

“Barnes?” The snap of Stark’s fingers in front of his eyes jerked Bucky to the present. He couldn’t afford to throw up. Swallowing back the bile, he grasped for the thread of the story he’d been telling as they reached the first set of labs. The rooms were dark save for some track lighting allowing them to see the interiors.

Medical beds, all fashioned with restraints. Steel cabinets and sinks. Drains in the center of cracked tile floors.

“But Saltykova was rumored to be especially brutal with her servants behind closed doors. Then her husband passed away—natural causes or so the history detailed it. He went in his sleep. They did not perform autopsies then and his funeral was closed casket. So maybe she killed him, too. Just another mystery—though he didn’t fit her pattern.” Focusing the tale steadied his rebellious heart. “Over time, it is said she grew weary of flogging them to death, that it was… too pedestrian perhaps might be the right word.” The Russian didn’t translate, so he didn’t try.

In the main medical bay, he paused to clock all the places someone could hide, then for surveillance. Still none. Many people had died in this room. If all their ghosts gathered, there would be no air left to breathe.

“Terminal,” he told Stark, motioning to a monitor and keyboard on a corner desk. Everything that happened in these labs required meticulous documentation, at first by hand in huge files which would be in the records room if they hadn’t been burned during one purge or another.

At some point they upgraded to mainframes and computers. Thus this would be the easiest access to their server room. It was hard wired through the walls. Stark would know how to get in.

Taking sentry, the Soldier kept his weapon unholstered and his gaze fixed on the two most likely points of ingress. His position also put him between Stark and any would be attackers.

“Got it,” Stark said, then he swore. “It’s all in Cyrillic.”

“Friday can read it, yeah?” Because if he had to, the Soldier would take over but it would be better if it were Stark. The longer they stayed here, the more memories flashed through his head.

A time when they’d removed his arm to test his pain responses.

Another time when he’d sat in a chair in this room, digging out the bullets earned in deflecting an assassination attempt on Karpov. He’d killed thirty-one men that night, most of them comrades of the not-so-good general, and only a third of them actually a part of the coup attempt. The rest had simply been retaliation and overreach.

“She can.” His voice came out modulated. He’d put on his helmet. After a few moments, he said, “You can keep telling me your creepy ass ghost story. Friday has this.”

The Soldier almost smiled. “It is not a ghost story—yet. Saltykova acquired a taste for more gruesome punishments, and perfected her tortures over time. She could rip off a person’s hair, or set it on fire. She would scald them in boiling water.”

“What the hell, man? Why?”

“Curiosity at first. How much could a body endure and still survive? When did a mind break? How much damage could a person take and still function—survival and functional are different aspects.” Another shrug. “She enjoyed hurting people, the research it turned out was a hobby. When her servants began reporting her activities to the police, they claimed she had caused over 75 violent deaths—mostly women and young girls.”

“Women.” Stark’s voice had gone flat, even cold behind the mask. “And young girls.”

Yes. He had begun to see the correlation.

“They suffered more beautifully,” the Soldier stated, reciting the reasoning from the court papers. “They survived more elegantly. They honed more powerfully.”

“That’s some sick shit.”

Another shrug. “She documented it all. Men it seemed, bored her.”

“Yeah…I think sadist is too kind a word. But I’ll bite, did she say _why_ men bored her?”

“When she broke a man, they either went insane or became mentally useless. Either way, they were shattered, and violent. When she broke a woman—they could still exhibit poise and endurance. Earning their screams was far more of a challenge then.”

The thought nauseated Bucky, but the Soldier knew this tale well. When he’d told it to Natalia on that icy winter night while they huddled for warmth around a too small fire, fending off frostbite, she’d only shrugged and said, _“Men are easier to break. You only have to find what they care about.”_

So clear and startling the image surged through him. The cold in the air bit at his nose, and the rough scratch of his beard providing some warmth for his cheeks. Natalia’s face had been red, and chapped. Her lips peeling and cracked. She was far too slight to stand up to the brutal winds, but she didn’t complain. When he dragged her into the confines of his coat and wrapped the too thin blanket around them both, she’d just leaned there and stared into the fire.

They hadn’t stopped for five days, braving the brutal weather to track a defector who thought to escape into the mountains.

He’d been wrong.

Shoving it all to the same box he’d designed for all such memories of her, he shook off the lingering taste of cold on his tongue. “The police and the Moscow governor of the time investigated—but poorly. Saltykova was well-connected at court. She had influential friends and relatives who took care of sweeping away the trouble. Bribes. Blackmail. Accidents happen. Years passed. Nearly two decades. Finally, one clever clerk managed to get a petition into the hands of Empress Catherine the Great. The clerk it seemed lost two sisters to Saltykova—or so the story was told. He spent many years trying to bring her to justice.”

The Soldier would have just killed her. Perhaps some of those poor souls had tried.

They’d apparently failed.

“I’m sure that pleased her sometime lover,” Stark said with a grunt. “Almost done here. Friday’s pulling it all. They have like no firewalls on this system. The system’s been idle, the dates on the last file updates are over two years old.”

Then they had forgotten this place.

Good.

No one would miss it when he destroyed it.

Awareness of the chair’s location two rooms to his left hovered at the edges of his mind. First the files and any trace evidence leading to Barton or to why they wanted Natalia. Revenge perhaps.

Or something else.

Either way, they could not have her.

“Barnes…what did the empress do?”

“She was not amused,” he said. “Lover or not, the tales of blood and pain did not sit well with her. She ordered a trial immediately and sent her personal guard to seize Saltykova. They swarmed her residence, tore it apart. In the end, they were only able to verify about 38 bodies, though everyone involved agreed there had to be many more. Her residence outside the city was burned before it could be searched. So perhaps that took any remaining evidence with it. It mattered little…the number was more than enough for the courts to find her guilty.”

“Please tell me they executed her.”

“Sadly…no.” Bucky got it, living with her crimes and suffering her punishment might have been crueler than letting her escape into death. The Soldier didn’t care. The dead can’t escape to kill again.

“Catherine stripped her of rank, her wealth and all her holdings. She stripped the families as well, for their complicity in covering up her crimes. Then she jailed her for life in a lightless cellar of a convent after proclaiming her a man.” The corners of his mouth twitched, that part had made Natalia laugh and laugh.

Stark had finished, he came to stand next to him, faceplate up. “Why the hell would she label her a man?”

“Because the Empress deemed her unworthy of being called a woman. Men were easily broken and turned to madness and no woman would have been so subsumed by her brutal tendencies as Saltykova.”

“Hopefully that stung her.” Tony grinned, his smirk reminding the Soldier of Natalia in a way. “Hopefully it burned like hell. So did she die in jail?”

“33 years later,” Bucky admitted, and shook his head. “She was kept in isolation, not even the nuns would spend time with her or pray for her soul. All her meals were delivered through locked doors. They say she was eventually moved to an outbuilding when even the nuns could no longer tolerate her presence in their convent. I can show you where…people still visit it from time to time and whisper about the mad ghost that still inhabits the cell.”

“They let her live that long?” But he didn’t wait for Bucky’s response. “The Red Room started then, didn’t it?”

“The land where her house once stood is said to have been home to the Red Room’s Moscow facility.” He wasn’t sure about that part. What he could remember of the Red Room and its horror drenched rooms fit the narrative, even if it had been built after Saltykova ended up jailed.

“Well as much fun as bonding over horror stories is—and I think that one is going to give me nightmares, thanks for that—we’re done here. Friday’s gonna have to translate the files, I think I found info on both of you, but nothing on Barton. That’s just a guess. Where to next?”

“This way.” Bucky nodded, and lead the way. He was already reaching for the pouches he’d loaded with C-4.

The room with the chair was exactly as he’d remembered it. Cracked and stained green tile surrounded the steel contraption with its black hood piece. Metal stands extended upward where emptied bags still hung, even the tubing from the IV bags hung discarded over the arm. Rusty red stains splattered the floor, and seat.

Bucky wanted to cringe away from it, or throw up. At the same time, it made him so fucking angry. How many times had he been strapped into it, wiped and reconditioned for the next mission, or readied for cryo? How many times had he sat in that chair, half naked and shivering as his handlers discussed amongst themselves what next? How many times had he been left to sit there, half-forgotten as they went to their meals or even home for the night, only to return to him in the morning?

He’d been a thing.

A tool.

A weapon.

The Soldier didn’t wait for Bucky to delve too deeply into his complicated reactions to the device dictating their lives for the last seventy years, he simply began placing C-4 all over it. The chair would be obliterated and not available to harm anyone else.

Stark said nothing, but he examined the device, then went to the control panel. “Will it bother you if I data mine this thing?”

The question startled the Soldier and Bucky twisted to look at him. Despite the eerie silence of being the only two people down here, pain occupied every filthy inch and the past threatened to shackle him in place. “Why?”

“Because they used it on you, and Nat. Because if I know how it works and what it did—maybe I can help fix both of you or at least…repair what they did.”

Bucky frowned. “I don’t want this thing to exist.”

“Oh no, blow it to kingdom come. I’ll help. But I want Friday to empty the data files on this.” He tapped a black box bolted between the chair and the console. “If I’m right, and I usually am, this is like a black box for a plane. It probably has all kinds of data in here…including brain scans if I’m reading this equipment right.”

“And you usually are,” Bucky finished for him dryly and Stark just shrugged.

“I’m good at what I do.”

Yes, he had a reputation for building the best—first in weapons of war and now in, what, weapons of peace? Could that even be a thing?

“Why ask me?” That part puzzled him. Stark didn’t seem to be one to ask permission. Except he had with Natalia…maybe some assumptions needed to be revisited.

“Because I’m not a complete asshole,” Stark told him dryly. “And what I find in here might be your brain cracked open like a bad egg. You have a right to take issue with who sees that.”

Did he? “I think I gave up my rights where you are concerned. They could have used this machine to prepare me for the mission that sent me after Howard.” Or at least one very much like it. Stark would be well in his rights to want to just destroy it.

Instead of respond, Stark stared at the device and then he walked over and carefully sat down. Bucky didn’t quite gape, but the Soldier went rigid.

“I don’t know if auto-activates,” he warned.

“It won’t,” Stark assured him. “All the controls are there. Nothing is anywhere someone sitting here could reach.” His voice had taken on a distant, almost analytical quality. He leaned back against the unforgiving metal and placed his hands on the arms, almost disregarding the fact the Soldier had packed enough C-4 around it to break it down to its basic atoms.

“What are you doing?” The Soldier asked finally, itching to be out of this room and away from the thing. Glad Natalia was not with them after her reaction to the chair in Azzano.

“Understanding,” Stark said, as clear as mud on the subject. Bucky shook his head and looked away. The Soldier scanned the room.

“We’ve been here too long. We need to finish, retrieve any files and clear the rest of the facility.” Impatience edged Bucky, but the Soldier refused to give into the restlessness. While finding the location abandoned had been unexpected, he couldn’t say it was a surprise. Even at the height of their power, Department X kept only a small footprint in Moscow directly. They wanted their finger on the pulse, but this place could have been destroyed a hundred times over, and it wouldn’t have put a dent in their operations.

Killing Karpov certainly hadn’t.

There was a memory he wanted returned. Karpov was dead. He’d seen it. These were both certainties. But had he been the one to do it? Or only the one to clean it up?

Yes, that was one death he would gladly have on his hands.

“Barnes…”

He canted his head to show Stark he had his attention, but he didn’t respond. Another itch between his shoulder blades told him they needed to complete their tour through the bowels of hell.

Or at least hell’s waiting room.

Arkangelsk was where hell awaited them.

_Natalia should not go._ Bucky didn’t know why the Soldier was so adamant, but he couldn’t argue with the sensation. She’d been right. They’d taken Clint there. It was where they’d wanted her all along and where she’d been trying to go since before Azzano.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology jerked him out of his reverie and he spun to face the other man, his faceplate was open. He stared at him from where he sat in the chair and Bucky was bewildered. “For what?”

“For all of this,” he told him. “This…madness.”

“You did not do it.”

“No,” he agreed with him. “But sitting here, I’m asking myself a hundred questions about the guy who designed it and did he have any idea of the pain and torture it would inflict? Could he imagine what his great _work_ would do?”

“Arnim Zola likely designed it, and he was a cruel, vicious little man who only saw what his work could for him. He was neither power hungry nor mad. He wasn’t even a sadist. People were disposable. All that mattered was his work. I could have killed him without the metal arm he gave me or the serum he dumped in my veins.” An image of the dough-faced scientist narrowed across his vision as he smiled benevolently. “He said I was to be the new fist of Hydra.”

“Charming.” Stark pushed out of the chair. “I’ve built more weapons of destruction than the world ever needed. I didn’t pay attention to who could use them or why. I just knew I could make them bigger, or better. I was so busy doing it, I never asked if I should.”

“You didn’t do this to me.” The Soldier regarded Stark steadily. But instead of answering him, the man broke off something on the machine and held it up.

“I did some of it.” The small metallic device looked just like the rest of the chair. “It’s a sonic taser.”

The name meant nothing.

“The device delivers a high pitched sonic frequency that attacks a person’s auditory system, overloading their nervous system and causing their entire body to lock up and become paralyzed. The effects last for fifteen minutes, after which it will slowly begin to wear off. During the time people who become affected become pale, have visible strain in their blood vessels and circulatory system, and may even have trouble breathing. In this state they are completely unable to move and completely at the mercy of the device's user.”

The Soldier nodded. “An efficient means to restrain me if I didn’t want to stay in the chair.” It had happened in the past. He’d killed a few of his handlers and guards that way. As recently as DC as it happened. Why had they not had one there?

A question for another day.

“You’re missing my point, Barnes…Bucky.” It was the first time Stark had used his name. “I designed this when I was fifteen.”

Oh.

Stark looked at the chair, then at him. “I wondered if Obadiah was Hydra. I guess I have my answer now.”

“Hopefully it will give you some peace.” It was all Bucky could offer him.

“Not likely,” Stark said as he looked at the device in his palm, and then he closed his metallic gauntlet around it and crushed it. “Let’s go.”

It took them thirty minutes to clear every other room on the level. He let Stark check the cells, and was a little grateful when the other man said nothing about their condition. The file room was in pieces, paper shredded everywhere and the contents of every box spilled open.

The Soldier located a box with Natalia’s name on it just inside the door. A second a few feet away, and a third torn open in the back.

All the papers were gone.

Someone had already plundered the room for data. He and Stark took a few minutes to search anyway. There were no files on the Winter Soldier. Karpov wouldn’t have kept them here, chair or not. He’d been a selfish, greedy man.

“Am I the only one disturbed by the obsession with all things Nat?”

“No,” he assured the other man. “They want Natalia. They want her at Arkangelsk, and the answers to why might very well have been here.”

“Let’s hope they scanned some of this in and Friday and I can find it. We’re going to have to go for Barton…”

“We cannot leave him with them, no.” Bucky wouldn’t leave anyone behind with these guys. “But Natalia should not go.”

“She’s not going to take no for an answer.”

Sadly. Would she take it if she remembered? If he could give her the order? If he had the…

Bucky rebelled instantaneously and shut down the line of thought. He didn’t care if he or the Soldier _ever_ knew her triggers. They would not do that to her.

Period.

He’d eat his own gun first.

The Soldier agreed, reluctantly, but he agreed. He just wanted Natalia safe.

Controlling her would never be safety. Controlling her would be turning her into a thing, a possession, and they would be no better than their own masters.

After that, the Soldier’s reluctance vanished, and he fell into sync with Bucky on that one. It was like the world adjusted a fraction, the distorted lens clearing. Bucky Barnes got it, the need to protect her. Natalia was a gorgeous woman who’d been through hell. Even if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t want her anywhere near what was happening. But she was also a capable fighter, and possessed a brilliant mind. They needed her.

So he would do what he had to in order to protect her. If she walked into hell, he’d be right next to her.

With the records room cleared, that left only the offices. Karpov’s was the first one, though surely others had occupied it in the intervening years. Yet his portrait still hung on the wall, and a photo of Karpov, Petrovitch, and a third man sat on one bookshelf. Stark studied the photo, but then he picked up the one next to it and compared it to the other.

“Hello Piotr Ivanovich,” he said with a grim smile. “Friday, scan this and add it to our facial recognition search.” If she responded, Bucky didn’t hear it, but Stark added the picture to a pocket of the large coat he wore over his armor. “That’s something.”

Bucky went to the desk and stared at it. The scarred wood top might be as old as Bucky himself. There was a burn in one corner from a cigarette, and a deep groove from a knife. He concentrated on the desk and not to the two chair behind him that faced the desk. He’d often sat in one for a debrief when Karpov allowed. How many times had Natalia sat in the other chair?

The debrief he’d recalled had not happened in this room. No, but she’d been sent back to Moscow.

Petrovitch had an office here.

He abandoned Karpov’s office to cross the hall, half aware of Stark following him.

Inside the room was a whirlwind of destruction. Books pulled out, pages torn and paper fluttering. Frames had been smashed, shards of glass littering amongst the paper debris, and a photo album lay open on the desk, the only thing not torn apart in the room. Even the stuffing had been ripped from the chairs.

Stark whistled as he followed him inside. “I’m going to guess Piotr is not all there.”

Perhaps. Or it was the work of Alexei or some other unknown. The timing of the abandonment meant they couldn’t tie it definitively to their targets. But he suspected Stark may be right.

Turning the photo album around he stared down at the black and white images of a young Natalia. Stark’s swift inhale echoed the one Bucky wouldn’t allow himself. He turned the pages backward. Each page featured an even younger shot of her. Some had faded to nearly opaque, but he arrived at one that had to be her as a toddler, he didn’t want to turn the page to the beginning.

“What do those notes say?” Stark asked, pressing a finger to the notations written below the photograph.

Bucky wanted to be sick, but refused. “ _Tsesarevna.”_

“Does that mean princess?”

“After a fashion,” Bucky traced the letters with a finger. “It was an old imperial title for daughters of the Tsar, more often accorded to wives of the Tsesarevich—heir apparent. But some used this for the daughters even if it was unlikely they would inherit.”

“Arrogant,” was Stark’s only comment. “Rip the Band-Aid off Barnes.”

Flipping the last page, they stared at an infant swaddled in blankets, but staring unblinking at the camera. A date was scrawled across the bottom, the word Tsesarevna repeated, and Natalia’s full name and below that the word future.

“Think that’s her actual birthday?” It seemed an inane question, but the year listed was 1930, so perhaps. “Be nice to give her some fact.”

“Do you think she would be happy knowing…” He couldn’t finish the thought, instead he flipped to the very end of the photo album. The picture there was in color, and it was a severe look at Natalia, her hair parted, and pulled completely away from her face. She didn’t smile, her eyes seemed almost abandoned of anything resembling life. The clothes looked like something from the 60s or the 70s. But the lack of any animation gave the illusion of a corpse given life.

No notations on the page, just the picture.

She looked the same age she was now. Timeless.

But he much preferred the spark in her eyes, the smirk on her lips, and the warmth in her laughter to the imposter on the page.

“No. I don’t think anyone will be happy about this, but I think it confirms our theory Petrovitch brought her into the program from the beginning.” Stark picked up the photo album and added it to the other items they’d acquired. They needed to have a care with how much they carried.

Beneath the album was a single piece of paper with a note scrawled across it. Bucky glared at the words as if he could reach for the person who’d left it there.

“I’m going to guess it’s bad news.”

“Dearest Natalia,” Bucky translated and read aloud. “Have you ever wondered where a bitch like you comes from? My brothers and I asked the same question. What made an orphan so damn special? Imagine our surprise, not an orphan—but bred for a specific purpose. The Germans were not the only ones who engaged in Eugenics. If you want the answer come to us. You know where we’ll be–Alexei.”

“That we can burn,” Stark said flatly, turning away from the desk to look over the rest of the room. They had only a couple of more to explore and they would be finished. Bucky would love nothing more than to destroy it. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t.

It belonged to Natalia.

He folded it up and slid it into a pocket.

It could all be lies—so much of what they’d been told and force fed through indoctrination had been rooted in lies to make the greed of a few palatable when served up as patriotism. It would still be hers to know and do with as she wished.

Weariness from this walk through the past, even if there seemed to only be lingering shadows of his time here, swept through him. No documents or files. No photos. He’d been called a ghost for a reason. The Asset was a possession, a weapon, not a person.

Natalia had been more to them.

The thought left him more apprehensive than perhaps it should. They’d done awful things to someone they clearly prized.

To what end, though?

The last two rooms were a fount of nothingness. One a meeting room, the other filled with chairs and a screen. A movie room. For more indoctrination likely or to review reels from missions.

It didn’t matter. It could all burn.

He’d left some C-4 in each room they’d visited. The detonators were all sync’d to the trigger in his pocket. He could blow it once they were upstairs. Close the tomb on this remnant of Department X’s bloody history.

Everything went according to plan until it didn’t. They returned up the stairs unmolested, and he triggered the explosions as soon as they had the exterior door opened. Stark was once again helmetless, having stored it inside the bag and closed the heavy coat over his armor. The hat pulled low over his head protected his ears, but his face was still visible.

Bucky pulled his own hat lower as he turned the collar on his jacket up as if to brace against the icy wind. The hidden door closed just as the first vibrations of the explosions reached them. He nudged Stark into moving, then took point as he lead him directly away from the Lubyanka building. Somewhere near the front of the building, an explosion ripped through a manhole, sending a plume of fire upward.

Apparently they’d caught something of a gas line.

Unfortunate.

Picking up the pace, he trusted Stark to keep up with him. Then the first military vehicle turned the corner in front of them. Their headlights skated over them and Bucky took a hard left into an alley between two of the buildings, dragging Stark with him. Hopefully the truck would keep moving, only it slowed to a stop near the mouth of the alley and then there were boots hitting the ground.

“Run,” he ordered Stark, and turned into the spray of gunfire they unloaded. Left arm up, he strode right toward them. Determined to disable and not kill, he broke off the front of one rifle, then used the gun itself as a blunt weapon. The soldiers were young, and they shouted as he cut through them.

Two minutes in, he had all eight down, and the driver slumped in his seat. Stripping their weapons, he broke them as he walked. Stark waited at the other end of the alley gaping at him.

“Go,” Bucky ordered him. Then hurried him along. He mapped the route they needed to take now that their street access had been interrupted. A radio he’d lifted off one of the soldiers sputtered to life. More were on their way. Two targets had been spotted leaving Lubyanka just as the explosions began. They were to be detained for questioning.

No kill on sight orders were to their benefit.

“I’ve got enough juice to get us there,” Stark said. “We’ll make short work of this trip.”

“No,” Bucky argued. “We have the advantage, but all eyes are turning toward Lubyanka, and your suit is still distinctive—even in the dark. More if you were carrying me.”

Matching paces with him, Stark hurried along. “I’m thinking speed is our better bet here.”

“No,” Bucky disagreed with him. “They don’t know who we are, only that we were near the building when it happened. If you fly, it risks betraying your presence here and that will endanger you with the Accords.”

Also unacceptable.

“I will get us back to Steve and Natalia,” he assured him, then said two words he doubted Stark would appreciate. “Trust me.”

The other man stared at him for a beat too long and Bucky wondered if he’d just take off on his own. He wouldn’t fault him for it, but he kept moving with Stark alongside as he wound through the alleys. Even amidst the opulence, the lower classes made their mark. These alleyway markets and apartments were just one sign of it. The crowds thickened and thinned, but no one gave them a second look.

They had their own problems and wanted no part of anyone else’s.

The route would take them a few minutes longer, but they would avoid the military and should they catch up, the presence of so many would distract them.

“Fine,” Stark said. “You’ve gotten me this far. Let’s do it.”

Surprised, and a little pleased, Bucky nodded and kept his head on a swivel for any threats to Stark as he guided him through the tenements, in and out of buildings, back through alleys and finally onto the street filled with empty industrial buildings and remnants of a more industrial phase in the city. With no sign of anyone behind them, he let Stark take lead in the building, and kept watch over his back as they made their way to the roof. The quinjet was parked in the center, fully cloaked. Even the hum of the engines was masked—impressive equipment.

The hatch opened as they approached and Steve met them with a shield on one arm and his gaze firm behind them. He looked better. “All good?”

“We’re peachy, Capsicle. Your BFF is damn good at what he does.” Stark passed him with a pat on his shoulder. Bucky followed a step behind him, giving Steve an assessing look.

He was still a little pale, but he seemed steady on his feet. The ramp closed behind them and Bucky looked past him to where Natalia sat in the cockpit. The quinjet was already lifting into the air and he frowned.

“Hey Red,” Stark said. “Should you be behind the wheel? There’s something about driving under a concussion, you know.”

“Just getting us airborne, Tony.” There was an odd note in the tenor of her voice. Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You good Buck?” Steve had set his shield down and studied him.

“Fine,” Bucky told him and handed him a bag. “Store these.” Then he made his way toward the cockpit. He could take over the flight. Stark was already stepping out of his armor and arrowing toward her.

“I can do this,” Stark said as he slid into the other seat and she gave him a dry look. Only there was a frown tightening the lines between her eyebrows.

“So can I. I’ve done nothing but sit on my ass or sleep for hours. I can handle a flight.” The note was in her voice again. This close, Bucky could see the white knuckled grip she had on the controls. Everything else about her rang false. It was too relaxed in the looseness of her arms, but her shoulders were rigid, and she wasn’t turning her head too much. “I’m fine.”

Hand braced on the back of her seat, Bucky studied her profile aware of Steve hovering right behind him. But he ignored Steve, Natalia was still too pale and the bruises on her face stood out in stark relief.

It had been hours, they should have faded significantly by now. But instead they remained like dark ash sooting her skin. Her body seemed to prioritize what it needed to heal. The Soldier understood this about her. Significant wounds took priority over soft tissue or minor injuries.

“No you are not,” he said sternly. “Stark take over.” Then he reached past to unbuckle Natalia and lifted her before she was aware of his intentions. He took the hard blow she delivered to his shoulder and ignored it.

“Buck, hey…” Steve went to block him, but he stepped around him with Natalia secured against him.

“Her face is still bruised, Steve,” he told them, moving his face to the side to avoid her next blow and tightening his grip when she grimaced. The hard motion sent a shock of pain through her and it reflected in her expression. He carried her over to the cot and settled her on it.

“She got in a fight, we knew that.” Steve studied him, then looked at Natalia, his expression questioning. “She said she still had a headache, but it looks a little better.”

Natalia glared up at him, but betrayed herself by the fact she didn’t launch right off the cot and kick his ass. He met her glare with an impassive look.

“It’s more than a headache, isn’t it Natalia?”

The mutiny in her eyes gave way to a flash of recognition that she shut down almost immediately by sweeping her lashes down. “I’m fine, Soldat. The headache will pass.”

“Very well,” he accepted her pronouncement. “But until your bruises heal, you will stay put. The fact they have not contradicts your statement.”

She muttered something like bastard under her breath, and he folded his arms.

“My mother and father were happily married thank you very much.”

Eyes closed, she put an arm over them and flipped him off with one finger. The acquiescence was too easily gained, another sign she should have been down this whole time. She was in no condition for this, the device had done something else. He needed to talk to Stark…

Steve grabbed his shoulder and urged him backward, his voice a hiss. “What the hell, Bucky?”

Jerking his shoulder out of Steve’s grip, he met him glare for glare. “Watch it Punk. I know her, and I know when she’s lying through her teeth. She’s in too much pain to be doing anything, much less piloting. Something is _wrong_ with her. Stop making moon eyes at her long enough to see what’s going on.”

His best friend reared back as if Bucky had slapped him. A part of him regretted the wording, but sometimes Stevie really was blind. He’d get too focused on what he wanted something to be and not enough on what it was. That and he’d been unconscious and drugged. His decision-making paradigm was questionable at best.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Steve argued, then raked a hand through his hair as he turned worried eyes in her direction. Disagree or not, he seemed to already question it. And Natalia still hadn’t moved from the prone position. Her breathing was a little rapid, and shallow. Bucky would bet all his missed paychecks her vitals would be all over the place.

She was in _pain_.

But they had been trained to resist it, to ignore it, and if they couldn’t, to repurpose it in some other way. The fact she struggled to do all of the above said it was worse than a simple gunshot or knife wound.

_“It’s fine,” Natalia assured him as she stood on the bandaged leg. She’d taken a knife to the thigh, and the bastard had twisted it. The likelihood of torn muscle was high._

_A dozen men lay in a circle around them, the casualties of trying to stop them leaving after they’d executed Zhang Liu,a black market arms dealer who’d been smuggling more than weapons in and out of Russia through a Chinese border crossing he all but controlled. Their assignment had been to terminate the operation from the top down._

_“We have a thirty-two kilometer hike to the extraction point.” No one was to know they were ever here. No Russian influence on the Chinese side of the border. Therefore they needed to cross the border via the wilderness._

_“Don’t think I can do it, Soldat?” She smirked, then flicked his nose. The act made him blink; worse, he didn’t even try to stop her hand’s approach to his face. She wouldn’t hurt him. “I’ll be fine. Finish the sweep. We need to leave this place burning when we go.”_

_She moved away from him, her limp carefully concealed yet she could not put her full weight on that leg. The region of major muscles would continue to pull and tear if they took the overland route where they would have to go up and down hill on rough terrain. It might have been better if she were in tactical clothes, but the dress designed for seduction had provided little in the way of defense. The scrap of cloth a poor obstacle against a sharp blade and a determined man._

_“Or you can stand there and fuss over me like a school matron,” she teased, but kept moving. Motivated, he resumed his own sweep. The man who’d stabbed her had died swiftly. She’d taken care of it herself, efficiently. The Soldier almost found himself wishing for a different outcome._

_One where he could have used the same knife to disembowel him._

_Wanting something was contrary to programming, so he dismissed it. He had to. Natalia had accomplished her mission cleanly, gaining access to the house and their mark with ease. The resistance from his guards had also been expected, and why he’d been close to the house when she’d made her move._

_But this was only their fourth mission together, and already he tired of the injuries she took to accomplish the tasks set to them even if she never let them slow her down. It would be better if her skin remained unmarked even if she healed swiftly enough to prevent most scars._

_Outside, he found a jeep parked behind the house. Military issue, likely circa the war, it was spattered with mud and obviously well used._

_They had to make the border crossing, but no one said they had to walk. They just had to avoid the official border, and cross unseen._

_The jeep was acceptable under those parameters._

_She laughed at him when she exited the house, flames flickering in two windows. He said nothing, just waited for her to climb into the jeep. Blood showed through the bandage on her thigh, and he could smell it._

_“Fine,” she said with mocking ceremony as she slid into the passenger seat. “You win.”_

_It was not a matter of winning, though her laughter had been ample reward. He was tasked with her training and protection. She had been harmed. He would not let her harm herself further and the jeep allowed them to reach their destination and keep her off her leg._

_He started the engine, and pulled away from the house. He angled over the field behind the house, trusting his innate sense of direction. Natalia braced a hand on the dash and one the bar overhead to keep herself steady._

_“It occurs to me, we will reach the extraction point early at this rate…”_

_He merely glanced at her before returning his attention to their route. They couldn’t afford any accidents._

_“…shall we stop for a night? They won’t be expecting us for another fifteen hours. We could find a room, we have enough cash.” They always had cash, and no one ever asked for an accounting. They had it for greasing palms or picking up supplies. “Sleep in real beds, order in some food…have a hot shower.” The lusty sigh she gave for the last item gave him pause._

_She was right. The jeep would get them to the border in less than an hour. Even if he couldn’t take it across, he could carry her to where they could lift another vehicle. They would still have hours at the cold extraction point. That would not be conducive to her leg healing, even with as swift as she did._

_“If you wish,” he conceded._

_Then he did his best to ignore the fact her little clap sent a frisson of pleasure through him._

_He wasn’t supposed to want._

_Not supposed to didn’t mean he never did._

As quickly as the memory flooded him, it retreated. Steve had been talking to him, but he huffed out a breath then moved up to talk to Stark. On the cot, Natalia had lowered her arm and stared at him. For a moment, that recognition flashed in her eyes.

Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part.

She closed her eyes deliberately and he glanced toward the cockpit. Steve watched him, his stare full of questions, worry and guilt? The last one seemed off. He and Stark spoke in low tones as Bucky moved to join them. He could almost make out their words over the hum of the engines.

“…not going to lie Cap, this shit show is getting worse with every stone we kick over.”

“We can’t leave Clint with them,” Steve argued. “We need to get him back.”

“And we will,” Stark said. “But do you want to take her in there like that? We all need to be at a hundred percent, she definitely isn’t, and I don’t think you are yet either. I’m bruised to hell. Barnes might be in the best shape of all of us.”

Steve braced an arm, and for a minute, he wore the expression he always did right before he planned to start a fight.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky said, snagging his attention. “We need to treat Natalia’s head injury.” She had a concussion, that coupled with the device may have done enough damage that required her full healing ability. “Stark needs to repair his armor and rest. You need sleep.”

“And we just leave Clint there?”

“If the option is to leave him there a few more hours while we recoup our strength, and make sure she is all right or risk capture and possible death, then yes, we leave him there.” It wasn’t a conflict for him. He liked Clint. He seemed a good man. Natalia cared for him deeply, that alone would make him worth saving. But not at the risk of not only failing to rescue him, but getting her captured and the rest of them killed.

“I hate to say it Cap, I don’t like it either but Barnes isn’t wrong. It’s not just that these guys want to kill us—it’s that they _don’t_ want to kill her.” Stark shook his head. “If we go full throttle, we can be back at the chalet in less than three hours. We’ve got better equipment there, food, and rest. Twenty-four hours, then we head straight for Barton.”

Stark did not include whether Natalia was ready or not in his answer, but Bucky saw it reflected in his expression. Bucky suspected Stark would leave her behind or find a way to contain her to keep her safe. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the idea. Containing her would be difficult enough on its own face, but with Natalia they could be wrecking any and all trust she had for them.

Better estranged than dead.

No. Neither was an acceptable outcome.

But if he had to, he could earn her forgiveness as long as she was alive to grant it.

Steve frowned, but then he looked at Natalia and his resolve waned. “We’re already heading back aren’t we?”

“Well yeah, always better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Stark said, but his words did not always reflect what he genuinely meant. Howard Stark’s son was a contradiction. He cared far more than he wanted the world to know, and Bucky could respect that. Feelings could be used as leverage against a person.

Endanger the person who aroused the feelings in the first place.

His gaze tracked to Natalia. Finding no fault with Stark’s choice to head to Switzerland, he left them to talk and returned to the cot. Her breathing hadn’t relaxed enough for true sleep, so she feigned it. Not calling her out on it was the least he could do since he knew how unhappy their choice would make her.

Pulling the blanket up, he covered her before stripping off his coat and taking a seat on the floor next to the cot. Steve eyed him from the cockpit, but Bucky let him glare. The need and possessiveness in his eyes when his gaze flicked to Natalia wasn’t a challenge. The edges of guilt when he’d look to Bucky were questionable. But he wasn’t a fool, Stevie was in love. Bucky had no quarrel about her feelings for any of the men she’d surrounded herself with—all of them were good in their own ways.

Clint rescued her, and gave her stability and a family. Stark seemed to understand her in a way even Bucky was only beginning to and maybe the Soldier always had, but that had been the Natalia they knew. Stark knew _Natasha_ , the woman Bucky wanted to know more. Steve? Steve saw the best in everyone, wanted the best in them. He would give Natalia everything if she asked for it even if he wasn’t sure how to do it yet. She was strong enough to not let any of them bully her, and they were strong enough to take care of her.

Bucky truly had no quarrel with them. But he would not allow any of them to supplant him. He’d told Steve he was pretty sure what Natalia was to him when they’d arrived in Venice while she slept so deeply, and relaxed.

He was certain now.

And he really needed her to live, and remember. If he only got live, then he would settle for it.

Tipping his head back, he let Stark and Steve talk, fully aware they were likely discussing him or Natalia or both. He focused on the sounds of her breathing, and only when hers finally deepened to something restful did he let his eyes close.

They both needed to remember.

It was more important than ever.

 


	41. I want to take it back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat isn't thrilled to wake up in Switzerland.

Chapter Forty-One

_I want to take it back_

Natasha

 

“You’re remembering more, aren’t you?” The demand in Steve’s voice required an answer. “That’s what _this_ is about.”

“I’ve been remembering for years, bits and pieces. You might want to be more specific.” James sounded almost bored, verging on taunting.

“C’mon Bucky, you walked Tony right through that place, through hidden corridors. And you make your way through Moscow like a native.” Aggravation marred every word.

“So? I’ve been in both on and off for years. I spent more time here than I did in Brooklyn and I could still make my way from our apartment to Coney Island without a map.” Annoyed didn’t cover James’ voice, he just sounded so weary. “You won’t like my answers, so stop asking them like we’re two bums from Brooklyn weaving our way home after sneaking a nip down at the docks.”

“You never used to do this. You used to be able to _talk_ to me.” Steve said, disappointment resounding in that last syllable. “I know…I know things have changed and I know you’ve been through hell.”

“No Steve,” James retorted, slow and fierce in its intent. “You don’t _know_. You volunteered to be experimented on. When they didn’t like what they got with you, they sent you to dance with showgirls. No one ever coerced you into serving their needs, you were right there saying throw me in the fire. You’ve _always_ wanted to be thrown into the fire and well if the sparks get tossed on the people around you, then so be it.”

It was like swimming up from dark water, she had to push her way through the heaviness of the waves.

“You _want_ to know,” James continued. “You want desperately to know because you think you can _fix_ it if you just know enough. And the hell of the thing is…I know you mean well. I know you’re fighting against yourself because you want to make me better, because somewhere in that punch-addled brain of yours, you decided you have to fix me. To make me who I was. You can’t. So stop asking for it.

“I don’t expect any of that to change over night—”

“Then stop fucking expecting me to be him,” James voice cut through the darkness. She needed to stop them. The anger in his voice betrayed a break with protocols, and it could spiral if they pushed him too hard.

“You are _him_ ,” Steve’s voice carried, heat punching it up. “I know they did things to you but you’re still _him_. You’re still my best friend. But this isn’t _only_ about you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” The dangerous note, the drop in James’ voice yanked her the rest of the way out of sleep. The room around her was dark, and the bed huge and soft.

Switzerland. They were back in Switzerland.

What the hell?

“That’s my point. I don’t know what you know. You’re shutting down and…”

“And what Steve? I’m becoming more me, only a me you aren’t so sure you know?” The challenge in those words was dangerous. “Or is it you that you don’t want to know this me. Because the Bucky you want back is the guy you dragged out of Azzano stuttering and tripping over his name and serial number.”

“Gentlemen… you might want to take it down a notch unless you plan to go back to putting holes in my walls. In which case, yell away.” Dry as the Sahara, Tony cut in. “But if you want to keep having this debate, why don’t you move it down to the gym? The whole point of this exercise is to let her rest and you are in no way being quiet.”

She reached for the blanket, then halted at the pinch and pull on her hand. The room was dark, almost too dark. Even the windows had been blacked out.

“Friday…lights.”

“I will turn them up to 20 percent Ms. Romanoff,” Friday responded in a far softer tone than she normally used. The dim glow confirmed she was definitely in Switzerland. An IV had been inserted into the back of her hand, and it connected to tubing running up to…saline. There was a nearly empty bag of saline, and another two sitting in the trash.

Her bladder protested and she popped the IV out, careful not to tear her skin.

“Ms. Romanoff…”

“Save it,” she told Friday. “I have to pee.” Irritation crawled through her like a colony of ants on the march. At least the argument beyond her door had gone quiet. She slid out of the bed and had taken two steps before it hit her—she was in a very long t-shirt and panties. The rest of her clothes were gone.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, she went to turn the light up in the bathroom, but it remained dim.

“Friday, I need a little more light here.” Her head was tender, very tender but the throb in her face had finally eased. The aches along her side as well. Tanya had gotten in more than a few shots.

“As you wish Ms. Romanoff, increasing to 40 percent, please report if there is any light sensitivity or aural disturbances.”

Aural disturbances?

Nat blinked slowly. Unease slipped through her as the lights came up gradually. The bruising on her face had faded to an unpleasant green and yellow. Another few hours and it should be gone entirely. She tested her own ribs, and everything felt solid.

“Ms. Romanoff, Boss would like me to ask how you are feeling?”

“Not one hundred percent,” she admitted. “But a hell of a lot better.” Tracing her fingers over her scalp, she took care with how much pressure she applied. It was like her whole head was just a little too sensitive.

The fight with Tanya in Budapest. Clint being taken.

Using BARF—yes Tony truly did need a new acronym.

Seeing her first moments in the Red Room.

Then the treatments with Dr. Federov.

Meeting _Soldat_ for the first time.

Soldat.

 _Oh._ A flush heated her face and she braced her hands against the coolness of the counter.

And after… it was a blur after. She’d woken, once. James had been there, concern coiled within his gaze. Tony and Steve had been in trouble…Steve was unconscious.

So weird to try and piece it back together, it was like she could see them but she was a step removed from them.

Yuri was dead. For real this time, she hoped.

Moscow.

They had to go on to Moscow and Steve wouldn’t wake up. What kind of drug had they hit him with?

No one had grabbed a dart to do a sample.

“Ms. Romanoff? Are you well?”

“Not sure yet,” she told the AI, still trying to get everything aligned properly in her head. It was like trying to cross a water way by leaping for rock to rock. A path existed but it wasn’t the most stable nor the most comfortable.

Tony and James went after Moscow station after they parked the quinjet. She wanted Steve moved to the cot and it had irritated James when she said fine, she’d do it herself after they left the quinjet. The deadpan look he’d given her had actually filled her with the most perverse amusement.

Because Soldat used to do that. It just slipped right into place where it belonged. Soldat never scolded, never raised his voice, and never glowered. But impatience? She could crack his unflappable demeanor when she provoked him.

She’d gotten so good at it.

Affection swarmed through her and she bit her lip. The _knowing_ was well placed because she had known him. Not all the pieces were there, she was still missing huge chunks but it was like a muscle memory or a reflex.

Soldat… Hell! That was why she couldn’t shoot him in Odessa. He was _important._

And exactly why she told Steve she worried about what would happen when she got all the pieces back. Her lips tingled at the slow easy way they’d fallen into those kisses. Why had she done that? Why hadn’t she put him off? He liked her—he’d made that clear. Just like Tony had made his overture.

Most men avoided Natasha Romanoff. Her covers? Sure, they got asked out on dates, hit on, and propositioned. Natasha Romanoff did _not_.

Suddenly Tony and Steve? Or maybe not so suddenly.

Then James hauling her out of the pilot seat, ignoring her when she said she could handle it. The crushing pain in her head had intensified the moment she’d been looking at all the control lights. He wouldn’t take her word for it and pain split her skull when she tried to get him to let her go.

The weakness alone rang every alarm she had. If she couldn’t fight back…or free herself. No, it was unacceptable. Then she could barely keep her eyes open. Even the dimness had been too bright and…what? She’d passed out? Enough they’d carried her off the quinjet, changed her clothes and put her to bed with a damn IV and she never noticed?

Shame crawled behind the irritation and she dropped her chin to her chest.

 _What are you doing, Nat?_ She could almost hear Clint and the sound of his voice, even imagined, delivered a precordial thump. It was enough to shock her out of the morass of self-pity and loathing threatening to tangle her up and drag her down.

Clint was still out there.

She was making out with Steve and now sleeping… “Friday how long have we been here?”

“About ten hours, Red.” Tony answered and she jerked around, adrenaline dumping into her system. One hand curled in a fist, and the other ready to intercept a blow that was not coming. “You were taking a minute to answer, so I wanted to make sure you were actually on your feet.” He had his hands in his pockets, and considering look on his face as if he wasn’t sure of his reception. “Friday was also concerned about the lack of response…if you were wondering.”

Relaxing her fist and folding her arms, she leaned back against the bathroom counter. “We left Clint.”

“No, you didn't,” he told her. “ _We_ did. But we’re not abandoning him. Rescue is going to need all of us and a couple of us weren’t up for it Technically three, but that’s only if I keep playing it safe. Not so interested in that with Clint’s life on the line.”

Playing it safe in the stealth suit versus using his actual Iron Man armor.

“For what it’s worth, you look better. We went through about four bags of saline.”

God, that explained why she had to pee so much. She touched an exploratory finger to her cheek. The tenderness of her scalp didn’t extend to her face. “Brain scans?”

“Inconclusive,” he admitted, still keeping a wary eye on her. Had she punched someone besides James? “In retrospect, I should have taken your concussion into account before working out a way to hook you up to…the retro framing.”

“Can’t call it BARF anymore?” A sliver of amusement snuck.

“No,” he said with a wry head shake. “Though no matter what I end up calling it, that name is gonna stick.”

“Probably, but you could always make it an inside joke.” The banter was easy enough, but even that felt forced at the moment. She could usually slip seamlessly between roles, but she just didn’t want to at the moment.

“Maybe.”

“You up for food?”

Was she? She didn’t feel hungry. But then, healing took a lot of energy and she’d apparently been injured far more severely than she realized. “I could eat…and shower. Then find my clothes—whose shirt is this?”

“Technically, mine since I paid for it—but Barnes pulled it out of his bag. It was—just handy. We wanted to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“So all _three_ of you changed me?” Because yeah…that would be a little weird.

“I had my eyes closed the whole time,” Tony said with a solemn look that didn’t reach his eyes. “Promise.”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” she told him with a rueful shake of her head, then winced as she moved it too fast.

“Yeah okay, I saw that.” He was startlingly serious. “Friday, let’s do another scan.”

“It’s tender,” she admitted, more to calm the definitive worry reflected in his eyes. “I promise, the miniaturized explosions inside my skull are gone.”

He looked so stricken, she wanted to take it back.

“Really, Tony. I’m good. Right Friday?”

“Scans show the hematoma from the earlier injury has shrunk completely. There are still signs of irregularities with regard to scarring on the cerebral cortex, but a comparison to earlier scans indicates they have also lessened.”

“What do you mean lessened?” Nat glanced up as if Friday would appear to answer the question.

“Earlier scans indicated scarring on nearly fifty percent of the neural mass, most likely rewired neural pathways related to physical scarring on the cortex itself. That percentage is now down to forty-six.”

Four percent.

She’d healed four percent?

“Wait…when you say earlier scans are you talking about before this week or just before our little experiment?”

“I do not have recordings of earlier scans prior to this week, Ms. Romanoff. Data earlier than fourteen months ago that was keyed to you is no longer accessible.”

Fourteen months ago…when JARVIS went offline and eventually became incorporated into Vision. Tony rubbed a hand to his cheek as if trying to chase away the pained expression. “So four percent. That’s a lot to heal in a few hours.” And if she’d had measurable scarring all these years… had Tony’s device somehow spurred it? Why now?

“That explains the headache,” Tony said slowly, the discomfort in his expression easing. Yeah she wasn’t the only one with problems letting people in. “How’s the memory?”

The initial reaction was a lie, to shield and cover up what she did or didn’t know, but she resisted it. “Sketchy…and a little wobbly. I was trying to piece together the last twenty-four hours and I have most of it I think…and what we found with BARF.” His grimace and slight roll of the eyes made her smile. Teasing Tony would never not be fun. “And I think a little more…weird pieces of random data.”

“Going to elaborate on that last part or keep your secrets?”

“Not quite ready to explore that part yet, and still trying to figure it out.” How could she have had a whole relationship with someone, romantic or not—it had to have had some emotional component, she kept her distance from reflex for far too long to discount the reaction James triggered in her—how could she have had that and it been so thoroughly taken away?

“Well you don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

“Sure I do,” she told him. “The first answer is we need to find Clint and this time, we go to Arkangelsk.”

“We’re going to talk about that over food. We need a solid plan and assurance you’re up for it before anyone signs off on it. Getting our Clint back is a priority.”

“Our?” She raised an eyebrow.

“He’s an Avenger. He’s a friend. And you know how I feel about people touching my stuff.” That was a lot for Tony, and she did know. She knew exactly how protective he was over his people.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Don’t thank me yet…thank me after we get him. You okay to shower by yourself?” Then his teeth clicked together as if he realized what he’d said, and instead of stuttering out a correction like some might have, he just smirked.

“You’re really waiting for me to say no so you can offer, aren’t you?”

A flash of amusement, then an even wider grin. “Can you blame a guy for trying?”

“Not today…” Then she nudged the door to, but not closed all the way. “If it will make _any_ of you feel better,” she pitched her voice a little because she had a niggling suspicion about the two super soldiers who’d gone quiet. “Feel free to be right outside the door.”

The door to her room opened and she shook her head.

“Wow, she has your number,” Tony commented, and Nat closed her eyes for a moment to get her breathing back into controlled rhythm while the water heated up. Another critical look at her appearance in the mirror showed her bruises were definitely still there. Faint but there.

“Can you tolerate more light yet, Natalia?” James was right outside the door.

“Haven’t tried it yet. Going to shower first in case the answer is no.” And right now she felt _gross_ and her hair was greasy.

“How about dizziness?” Steve asked, the team leader in his voice a firm foundation. It was the same tone he used to use when he wanted her to go to medical. “Balance problems?”

“No and no,” she answered. “For the most part. If I shake my head too hard, it’s…not fun, but it’s not killing me like it was earlier.”

There was a very telling silence beyond the door.

The thank you to James glued itself to her tongue, so rather than trying to spit it out she brushed her teeth. It gave her a reason for silence. After, she abandoned the pretense and just climbed in the shower. For some reason, it felt like it had been years since she’d stood beneath hot spray and let it pound against sore and aching muscles. Taking inventory as she went through the process of scrubbing herself clean, then washing her hair she was surprised by just how much of her ached.

It wasn’t the pleasant soreness post-workout of genuinely stressed muscles nor the wearying post-mission achiness. Standing under the water, she had to resist the urge to lean against the tile. If she slumped or gave off any physical indicators of distress, chances were Friday would rat her out. Normally Tony let her shut off all surveillance, but based on the worry in his eyes and the fact she’d gone down for hours and hadn’t even noticed?

No. He wouldn’t let her be the only resource for her condition.

So she just leaned her head into the water so it could sluice away the shampoo. The spray stung a little as it hit her scalp. Even the process of massaging conditioner into her hair left her raw and achy, like a byproduct of too much sensation or being tased over and over…

_“We’ve recalibrated for the Widow,” the doctor indicated. “Programming should be a smooth process.”_

_“Very well, Natalia, take a seat.” Karpov indicated the monstrosity of the chair. Cold metal aesthetics combined with rough manacles for security and IV tubes awaiting insertion. It looked more geared for torture than_ conditioning _. The reason she had been pulled from her training with the Soldier today._

_“Comrade,” she asked, keeping her tone humble and almost subservient. Karpov responded far better to gentle guidance than overt dominance or openly sexual. Pervert that he was, he liked to think of himself as much more. Of course, if he paid attention to where his hands wandered. “Am I allowed to know the purpose of this exercise?”_

_Four months since her graduation and assignment to train with the Soldier. Despite the fact it put her in constant contact with Alexei, Leonid, and Yuri, she found the time spent with the Soldier both challenging and rewarding. They’d even completed one simple mission._

_“Not at this time,” Karpov answered and snapped his fingers as he pointed her to the chair. “Take a seat, Natalia.” No room for prevarication or argument. Two doctors present, Karpov, and four fully armed guards in the corners of the room and another four right outside the door. She could take the ones in the room, but fast enough to prevent the ones in the hallway from getting a shot?_

_Tactically not sound._

_A shiver of apprehension cramped her gut. No easy solution and no direct reason to say no either. She’d been assigned to the Soldier, and thus Karpov by default, though Ivan remained her handler on all other assignments and he was not here to object. They were not even within the precincts of the Red Room, because he’d summoned her offsite—to Moscow._

_“Very well,” she agreed as though she had no objections. She had endured every training scenario of the Red Room and excelled. Isolation, pain, drowning, suffocation, freezing, and burning—she could survive whatever this would be._

_Once in place, she withdrew into herself. Disassociation allowed her to observe what happened to her body while not directly inhabiting it. The doctor secured the leather cuffs to her wrists and then pulled them tight. Her legs were next. Karpov stood watch over it all, his hands behind his back and a look of benevolence on his face._

_Huh. At some point she’d stopped thinking of him as the colonel or the general. She’d stripped away the title. Had constant exposure to him these last few months inoculated her to his authority?_

_A cold needle pressed into her arm. Then a familiar bag of blue liquid was hung. Treatments had ended with her graduation…hadn’t they?_

_A second bag, this one of clear liquid joined the first. Then a third bag. Sitting patiently grew more challenging as wariness swept even through the curtain of restraint. Through it all the doctors muttered to each other calling out numbers, and settings. A second tube joined the first running into her arm. Then one of the doctors pushed her hair away from her face—his fingers were ice._

_Finally, they nodded to Karpov. “We are ready to begin.”_

_He gave the nod, then smiled at her. “You will do well for me, won’t you Natalia?”_

_Despite her apprehension, she managed a single nod and a brilliant smile. She had trained in such manipulations, and tears would never work on a man like Karpov. “Of course, Comrade. I always do well.”_

_“Yes,” he murmured with far too much hunger and lust to be anything resembling comfort. “You do.”_

_“You will want this,” the doctor said stepping into her line of sight and it was a bite guard. He motioned toward her mouth. Well, she supposed that answered the question of whether it would be painful or not. In the interest of not biting off her tongue, she opened her mouth and let him slide the guard into place, then clamped down on it._

_Deepening her breathing and slowing her heart didn’t ease the hard rock of disquiet lodged in her gut. She could do this, she reminded herself as she forced her hands to lay flat, palms down. She had trained for years, she added as she uncurled her toes inside her boots and let the rigidity in her muscles bleed away. She earned the title of Black Widow through blood and sweat and skill…_

_“Begin,” Karpov ordered. The doctors moved to the control panel and she had a brief flash of Ivan shoving the door open, his expression thunderous before white hot lightning coursed through her and blotted out her vision._

The bruising thump of her knee against the porcelain tub jolted her as she grabbed the tile for balance.

“Nat?” Steve.

“Natalia?” James.

“Friday?” Tony.

“I’m fine, just dropped the soap,” she lied and glared up at the cameras and put a finger to her lips. If Friday had any damn protocols left on her side, she would hopefully concede to the request.

“Ms. Romanoff appears unharmed, Boss.”

Nice dissembling, Friday. She touched her fingertips to her chin, then extended her hand forward. _Thank you._

Concealing the trembling racing through her muscles as if she’d just stepped out of the damn chair, she straightened under the shower and stood under the steaming water. Maybe she should have gone the ice bath route, turned off all sensation. Not that it lasted long, but…holy shit. She had been in a chair and Karpov wanted her there…why?

What the hell had he been doing?

After rinsing away the conditioner, she forced herself to turn off the water and get out. With a towel around her torso, she had to settle for gently towel drying her hair without wrapping it. Her scalp just wouldn’t tolerate it.

 _Okay body, I don’t ask you for much but right now, fix this. I need to not have to go around them to go get Clint._ She was getting her best friend back.

She’d gone weeks without seeing or talking to him, but he’d been fine then and at least if not _fine_ , he’d been safe. Now she had no idea and the last twenty-four plus hours were an eternity.

Satisfied she had all the moisture out of her hair or at least that it wouldn’t drip, she tugged a comb through it, then took the time to braid it. Normally she pulled it tight as possible, but her scalp was not up for that. The simple, loose French braid would keep it out of her eyes and help keep the curls from overwhelming. If she had the time, she’d just cut it all off.

Better for battle anyway if they had nothing to grab. Tanya’s rather timely reminder had at least healed along the way. The raw patch where she’d ripped out the hair had smoothed over. Lifting one hand, she checked it for steadiness. James seemed to be as observant as she, and he’d notice even a flicker out of place. Schooling her features was one thing, but if any other ticks betrayed her—he’d call her on it.

No. Definitely not one hundred percent. But she was getting there. Clothes. Then food.

The shower had brought a fresh flush to her skin, the pink helping to offset the waxy paleness, especially around the eyes. Pulling her hair back was not only practical; it enhanced her bone structure and pulled attention away from the hollows around her eyes. Not perfect, but it looked enough like full recovery even with the traces of bruising which should vanish over the next few hours.

Gathering her composure, she skipped her normal regimen of lotion post shower and just opened the door. Tony sat on the foot of her bed, a phone in his hand as he reviewed data. Steve leaned against the wall right outside the bathroom, and James stood just a few feet away, feet braced and hands clasped behind his back—a soldier at rest.

She had all of their attention. “You know, when I said you could, I was kidding right?”

Keeping it light, she headed for the closet.

“Well next time don’t worry us so much,” Steve challenged and she allowed herself a smirk. Whatever he’d looked for when he stared at her, he’d found.

One down.

“Uh huh,” was all the response Tony gave her comment. Whatever she was selling, he wasn’t buying. Now whether it was because she hadn’t actually sold the part or he didn’t believe the storefront, she wasn’t sure—probably the latter.

James didn’t even bother with answering.

It took her only a couple of minutes to drop the towel, drag on panties, a bra, followed by sweatpants, and she debated a sweatshirt rather than a tank top, and decided against it. The sweatshirt would be conceding to a weakness. Tank top it was. That was what she would have worn anyway. She didn’t bother with socks, because she wanted nothing to interfere with her balance.

It didn’t surprise her to find all three still waiting for her. Steve pushed away from the wall when she stepped out and she gave him a look that should hopefully reassure. “Food?”

“We were just waiting for you to wake up.” Still, he searched her face and she didn’t want to just lie straight out so she nodded and glanced to Tony who glanced from his phone to her with another weighing look. “Everything all right?”

“No, Natalia,” James answered in a tone that suggested she damn well knew better than to ask stupid questions. “Come. You need to eat.”

Her eyebrows lifted at the flat, almost imperious tone. And all of her intentions to smooth things over to get them back into motion fled. “I’m not a dog, James. You don’t issue me commands.”

“No, you are a stubborn woman who has more care for her weapons than she does her own health. You don’t want a sergeant to kick you in the ass then learn to take care of yourself better. Until then, I’ll be happy to provide it.” Gone was the flat tone and he was some wild combination of Brooklyn and Soldier—it was kind of hot. And she really needed not to be thinking that.

Rebellion flamed to life. “Really?” She shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to move, to balance, to kick, or to run—it was as natural as breathing.

“Buck,” Steve warned him, but Nat did not need Steve to fight her battles.

“Stevie she has you to hold her hand and skip merrily to her doom, God knows you’re just as pig-headed as she is.” The snarl of Brooklyn creased every word and Nat wasn’t sure who was more surprised, James or Steve.

“You know I can win my own battles these days, Bucky. I don’t need you to drag my ass out of the alley anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looked like in the Potomac. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Silence hit the room like a grenade. Nat slid a look at Tony from the corner of her eye, he drummed a single finger against his phone but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the tension swirling around the boys.

“Considering you put him there, you should have been the one to drag him out.” If Steve wouldn’t stand up for himself, then maybe they both needed to remember some facts.

“Actually sweetheart…” James rounded on her. “The punk dropped his shield and let me wail on him, because he decided to stop fighting me.”

That…should have surprised her more. But it was exactly why she hadn’t wanted Steve going after James in the first place. He expected him to be the guy who’d fallen off the train in the forties.

“It worked didn’t it?” Steve retorted. “I saw the recognition in your eyes. That moment I got through. Fighting you just made you fight back.”

“So letting me beat your face in was the way to go.” James shook his head, disgust underlining the words. But he didn’t turn away fast enough, there was a flash of genuine fear in his eyes. “You let me keep hitting you and then you fell.”

He’d had to watch Steve fall, the way Steve had watched him.

“Like I said, it _worked_. You pulled me out of the river. You could have killed me then, and you didn’t. You could have _let_ me die, and you didn’t.” No, Steve wasn’t backing down from this. With every word, he invaded James’ space and her soldier—her? no not hers—the man in question tensed.

A whistle cut through the room reminding them all Tony still sat there, and at the moment he managed to appear genuinely bored even if the expression didn’t touch his eyes. “And on that cheerful note, all super soldiers with a Y chromosome, get out. Nat needs to eat and needs rest, not to choke on the testosterone.”

A smile quirked her lips despite the tension, trust Tony to defuse it with a verbal grenade. James glared at Steve, then his expression relaxed. “Fine. The punk can cook for his penance. What do you want to eat Natalia?”

“I really don’t care.” There had been protein drinks in the fridge when they arrived the last time. She planned to down three.

“Good. Pancakes it is.”

Steve brightened at James’ shift in attitude. Even with the heat on the words, it wasn’t far off how she and Clint got when they disagreed. Her heart squeezed, they were sitting here debating breakfast foods and Clint was out there and in trouble. It was worse than when Loki had him. Because she didn’t know what Loki was doing with him, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine Alexei torturing Clint.

Concern flickered across James’ features as he suddenly appeared in her line of sight. She shook her head when he went to open his mouth. No, she didn’t want to talk about it and she turned away, pretending she didn’t see the concern on Steve’s face.

“Let’s go Buck,” Steve said behind her and the pair left, the door closing behind them. She rubbed a hand against her cheek, ostensibly to check the bruising and possibly to swipe away the dampness from her hair.

“Need another minute?”

While she hadn’t forgotten he was there, he hadn’t failed to impress her with his patience. Not a quality Tony advertised possessing.

“I’ve got it.”

“Pain or something else?”

“Clint.” Certain her face wouldn’t betray her, she turned around. “Just…when those two started sniping at each other, it reminded me of Clint and then I realized I’m sitting here debating pancakes and Clint’s out there.” She was a shit friend.

“We’re going to get him back, Red.” It was as much a promise as anything. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he regarded her. “We will. And we’ll take care of him. Guy’s pretty tough, even if parts of him are plastic.”

The callback dangled a piece of the past at her. Clint had been hurt before. How many times had he and she had to patch each other up? But he’d never been in the Red Room. That part of her life had never truly touched him, and she didn’t want him to know it in any way.

“We’re going to go downstairs, and let the Brooklyn boys beat each other up verbally, eat, and then go over what we learned in Moscow. Friday’s got some more data too, then after, we’re going to plan the assault on Arkangelsk. You and Barnes are the only two who have actually been there, so I’m hoping between the two of you we can come up with a plan.” Sounded good.

“Not going to order me to stay here?”

“One, you’d just ignore me and do what you wanted to anyway, and two, if it were Rhodey, I’d probably blast through people to get there. I have no doubt you’re already considering how to get past all of us if we refuse.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “James would be a challenge.”

“Yeah, about that…” Tony eyed her. “What went down with you and Steve before we got back in Moscow? Something changed and it’s setting them both off.”

A shrug. “We talked…made out…tried to figure out what is going on.”

“Figure anything out?”

“No, just more questions. I keep…wanting it to go back to how it was.”

“Like?” He prompted her.

“Like when we were all together, and we could tease and laugh and…”

“Argue, judge, shout, and slam doors…” He added wryly.

“Well, even when we didn’t use our words, we still managed to save the world.”

“Oh that old chestnut.” A smirk. “I’m not the Bobbsey Twins down there, I’m not going to dance around this. You need to set them down. We’re not going on a double date, and while Barnes is proving to be all right…I’d feel better if those two spent more time watching your back than fighting over who is better at it.”

They didn’t need her coming between them. The look on Steve’s face when he told her he trusted her. What the hell had she been thinking, making out with him like they were some teenagers in the back of a car in the middle of an op—hell she’d never been that teenager when she was one.

Get Clint back, take down Alexei and anyone else involved. If she survived that… she’d walk away. Steve needed James, and while James was still struggling, she didn’t doubt that having Steve in his corner would be exactly what he needed to rebuild the life he’d had or at least a reasonable facsimile.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” Tony searched her face, but she just raised her eyebrows and smooth. “Red…”

“Tony?” She shook her head. “I said I’ll take care of it.”

“I heard you, Red. Do me a favor?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Talk to me before you do anything…reckless.”

“To talk me into it or out of it? Because you’re not so good at the restraint part.”

His smirk answered her own. “Cute.”

“Sometimes,” she pushed away from the wall she’d been holding up and extended a hand to him. He let her pull him up. “Do you remember when you asked me once if there was anything real about me?”

“Yes, and in my defense, I was in a really bad place then.” Yeah, he’d been dying, lied to, seemingly lost his best friend and his girl, and he had no idea which way was up and which way was down.

“I know, I remember. When you asked me if it was my last birthday what would I want to do? The answer I gave you?”

“Do whatever I wanted with whomever I wanted,” he paraphrased.

Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. “That was real.”

“It took you _five_ years to answer that question and _that_ is what you leave me with? Birthday advice?” The jaw-dropping outrage pulled a laugh out of her.

“Sorry, Tony. It’s all I have.”

“Fine,” he said rolling his eyes. “But you have five more years to give me a better answer.” Then he offered his arm. “Head still good?”

“Still a little tender,” she admitted after running her fingers across it lightly before taking his arm. “Kind of wishing it was a hangover though.”

“Overrated.”

Downstairs, Steve and Bucky worked together to make the breakfast. They alternated between laughing and ribbing each other. Nat got herself coffee despite objections from two of the three monkeys—hear no evil and do no evil—speak no evil kept his mouth shut and held out his mug for her to fill it.

She retrieved a couple of protein shakes and under Tony’s amused gaze, drained the first one before Steve realized what she was doing, but James snagged the second and read the contents with a glare. Fortunately, he didn’t make her fight to take it back. Course, she could have just gotten another one out.

Tony even joined in on the teasing, his comments more relaxed than when they’d all arrived. Despite the attempt at injecting some levity, the ghost of Clint clung too tightly for her to truly relax. This was just another check mark on the box to getting to him.

By the time their plates were loaded, she’d finished the second protein shake and snagged a single piece of bacon. Steve and James demolished their pancakes—had they even bothered to eat while they waited for her to wake up? Hopefully they’d gotten sleep, too. Steve seemed fully recovered from his drugging.

Though the thought reminded her of how over the top they’d gone on the quinjet. Was it her spiraling headache or his hangover that loosened their tongues so much? Did she regret it?

The first question she couldn’t answer, and maybe didn’t want to. For their own individual reasons, she’d cared about every man at the table. Tony had always been with Pepper, though. That wasn’t a possibility, and she’d left it there. He and Pepper broke up, then they got together again.

But it was more than that. She’d lost his trust all those years ago and until the last few days, she had no idea she’d actually gotten it back. Risking losing it again wasn’t on the agenda. Even if the idea of Tony tempted her, the reality was far more important to her. He was her  _friend_ , and she wouldn't risk damaging that relationship. 

Ever.

She sipped her coffee and considered Steve. They’d been team in some fashion or another since New York. She didn’t date within SHIELD. Hell, she didn’t date. She’d tried fixing him up, help him build attachments to ground him into the twenty-first century, and had gotten attached herself—but he’d wanted her to be a friend so she’d done her best. Now?

If she looked at them sideways, Steve and Nat seemed to work. But Captain America and the Black Widow had different strengths, that both served as complements and sources of conflict. Steve and Nat could work. Steve and Nat could build something.

But the Nat she’d been versus the Nat he knew…what if they weren’t the real her?

She flicked a look at James, unsurprised to find him watching her carefully though he attempted to not look like he stared. James held her secrets or she held his—either way something powerful tied them together and she hadn’t lied to Steve when she told him that discovering more might mean changing everything, and that wouldn’t be fair to him.

Worse, she wouldn’t be the reason those two men endangered their friendship.

Just—no.

_“Natalia?” The voice came from the vicinity of the doorway. She turned her head to find a man gazing at her, his expression stern._

_Did he mean her?_

_A breeze drifted in the window, and she turned away from it to look outside. The small window had been braced half open when she arrived. The tangle of spring scents teased her nose. The floral scent was pleasant and she liked it._

_“Natalia,” the man repeated and he was suddenly standing right next to her. “You did not come down to dance.”_

_“Was I supposed to meet you?” No one had told her. “They brought me in, but they didn’t tell me to do anything.”_

_The man knelt before her, and his cool blue eyes drew close as he studied her. “Where did they bring you from?”_

_“I don’t know.” Names and places didn’t mean much. “I’m Natalia.”_

_“Yes, you are.” His shoulders pulled back. “You call me Soldat.”_

_“Soldat. That is not a name.”_

_“No, I have no name.”_

_She didn’t know why she had one and he did not. “Do you want one?”_

_“It is not required.”_

_“But do you_ want _one?” She wanted her name, but no one had kept it from her. Right? The breeze stirred her hair and she turned to look again. The sun rose bathing the sky in pinks and blue._

_“Come with me, Natalia.” The man took her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Not arguing she let him guide her from her room down a hallway that seemed familiar, then another, and finally down the stairs. He continued down a new hallway, bypassing one room where three men worked out._

_“Are we going in there?”_

_“No.”_

_He didn’t release her until they stepped into an empty training room. Training room fit, it had wooden floors, mats, there were mirrors on one wall, and a barre. Soldat walked to the mats._

_“Join me.” The order tugged her attention from the mirror and she drifted over. The mats were squishy under her feet, but she curled her toes. She’d forgotten to take her boots off. Should she have?_

_“Defend yourself,” he ordered and struck forward with his right arm and grabbed her right wrist. She twisted from his grasp, seizing his wrist then slamming her left palm forward against the back of his elbow, it popped, but she was already turning. Her elbow collided with the back of his neck, too low to his head properly, but she grabbed his hair and pulled him into the flip._

_He tumbled, but caught her on the downward sweep, then slammed her down and her head bounced off the floor. Soldat had an arm across her throat and her right arm pinned but not her legs._

_“What did you do wrong?” He asked, his face hovering above hers._

_A slow blink. “Training room?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Soldat?”_

_When had they come in here?_

_“Yes.” He hadn’t released her, but there was a guarded look in his eyes as he studied her face. “You are?”_

_“Natalia…I went to Moscow for a mission and…” Something was missing. Something…she went to Moscow. Now she was here. But how did she get here? Soldat tightened his hold and she struck upward with her left hand, an open palmed slap up to his nose, even as she locked her thighs and tossed him over, reversing their positions. “I’m back though…right?”_

_“Yes, Natalia,” he told her. “You are back.”_

_The creeping sense of horror didn’t go away._

“Nat?” A blond man said her name, no, he was repeating her name. He’d said it before. Nat—Natalia—no, that wasn’t right. She blinked, barely aware of the room around her. The hell…

“Red?” A dark haired man had paused in refilling her coffee cup and eyed her. “Cap…” he said slowly. “Her pupils are blown.”

The blond man crossed toward the table, but Soldat was also there, staring at her. No, she’d been staring at him. Unlike the other two, he hadn’t moved. Was he really there?

“Nat?” The blond again, he was right next to her. “You okay?”

Training room or kitchen? Which one was real?

“Friday, give me a reading on her vitals.” The dark haired man cast her a wary look as he set the coffee pot aside and then nudged the plates aside.

“Ms. Romanoff’s heart rate and respiration have elevated, but still within normal ranges.”

“Still elevating?” Even as he asked the question the dark haired man kept track of her. The blond hadn’t moved but she was boxed between them. Sliding a glance toward Soldat, she checked his position. He’d also not moved.

Was this a test?

The kitchen seemed familiar. So did the men. Were they new trainees? No, the Red Room didn’t train men. But the Red Room was gone. Conflicting images danced across her mind and she held her position. She needed to decide.

“Hey, Nat…” The blond touched her hand, then covered it. He could lock her arm there, trap her against the counter table, minimize her ability to defend herself or escape.

“Cap…not a good idea…” The dark haired one said.

“Stevie, don’t!” Soldat said, an undercurrent of worry climbing in his words.

Stevie?

It was a test.

She slapped her hand to the blond’s forehead and jerked her elbow back to catch the dark haired one in the face, but he was already gone, her next blow took the blond in the chest, and then she slid her hand out and grabbed his biceps and went to drive her knee into his solar plexus, only instead of landing it, a metal arm locked around her middle and yanked her backward.

Muscle memory hnd her twisting as she drove her heels down to his legs, if she could trap one, she could pull him off balance.

“Really sorry about this Nat,” the dark haired man was there and had a gauntlet on her arm. “Let her go.” Suddenly Soldat released her and then a charge surged through her system and she clamped her teeth so hard she grimaced at the jolt. On her knees, she glanced up to see Tony and Steve staring at her and James to her right. “Back with us?” Tony asked, gauntleted hand extended but ready to strike.

“Yeah,” she exhaled and shook her head. The shock had the hairs on her body standing up. The tile was cold beneath her knees, and awareness of James close, his muscles coiled. Steve…fuck. She attacked Steve.

_Again._

Tony didn’t look reassured. “Can you do the drill?”

“Natasha Romanoff,” she said by rote. “Former KGB, Former Agent of SHIELD, Former Avenger and current fugitive.” Steve had a hand out to her before she even finished talking and she let him pull her to her feet. A shudder raced through her system, a byproduct of the shock and she shook it off, then grimaced. “Sorry guys.”

In retrospect, she got it. James pulled Tony away before she could hit him and he’d swept over to keep her from hurting Steve.

“Really…just sorry.”

Steve squeezed her hand and nudged her back to her seat, and Tony pressed her coffee toward her, but his gauntlet was still on and ready to go. Great, she had them all wary and watchful. James was right in her periphery.

“What happened?” Steve leaned on the counter next to her, studying her but when she pulled her hand from his he let her go.

“I remembered the first time I was in the chair earlier.” A pin could have dropped in the room. “And I think I just remembered returning to the Red Room after it…Soldat—sorry James…you didn’t have a damn name—didn’t seem aware that it had happened until he talked to me and I was too checked out to even respond like a fucking human being.”

Aggravation raked nails through her and she blinked.

Aggravation.

Anger.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, anger served nothing and no one.

Another breath.

Then another.

When she opened her eyes, James frowned at her and Tony actually looked even more concerned than when he’d realized she’d triggered somehow. “You took me down to the training rooms because I hadn’t come to dance…and then…” How did she describe this?

“I made you fight and knocked your head against the floor,” James said slowly. “I trusted your muscle memory to wake up—which it did.” Bemused, he nodded. “I don’t remember that as clearly, but I do remember you weren’t yourself and your reaction times were off. Then it improved after you hit your head.”

“Great, so we can add traumatic brain injuries to the list of Hydra crimes that just keep on giving.” Steve banged his clenched fist against the counter, and then pushed away from it as he grabbed dishes.

“Stevie…”

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “It’s fine. Nat’s fine. It’s fine…”

It was not fine.

“We need to talk about Clint.”

“Nat…”

“No, Tony.” She held up a finger and shook her head, and dammit her finger trembled so she lowered it. The taser effect had stung, and it left her a little wobbly. She could correct that. “You said tell you before I did something reckless, well this is me telling you. If we don’t discuss this and get a plan of action in motion soon, I’m going.”

Steve gripped the edge of the sink but didn’t turn and James just stared at her with an unreadable expression. Tony sighed, and his gauntlet retracted back into the watch band.

“Don’t you think you’re pushing this?” Tony said quietly. “Nat you’ve taken a lot of blows…”

“If I have a mission, I’ll be fine. And I don’t care, they’ve had Clint all this time and I’m done waiting. Are you going to help me or are you staying here?”

Steve turned to look at her, and there was a level of concern in his eyes that promised her if he decided she wasn’t going then there was going to be a real fight.

Fine.

She could take him.

“Guys, you don’t get it. Without Clint, I had nothing. I would have been another statistic. Someone else had that call, I’d be six feet under and none of you would know me…well, apparently you would but you’d have forgotten and have no reason to remember.” The last she said to James, and it was cruel and slicing. But she really didn’t care. “Alexei. Tanya. Whoever these other people are, Ivanovich or whatever…they’re _my_ enemies. _My_ past. _My problem_ and they took _my_ partner.”

Everything else could wait. All of it.

Steve looked at Tony who glanced at him and then James, before James glanced to Steve, then her.

“Really boys?” Now they were just irritating her.

Tony spread his hands. “Not a fan of putting you out there as unstable as you are right now.”

“Tony,” Steve groaned, but he didn’t argue the point.

“Your face is almost healed, so you are no longer a liability for your injuries.” Didn’t James put a cherry on top of it? “You’re right, we should retrieve him.”

“One for and one against, Cap. You’re the tie breaker,” Tony said with a smirk.

“Yeah, okay, you guys vote.” She stood and checked her balance. There was still a faint trembling from the shock. Those took a little time to pass, but they still had a few hours in flight. “I’m getting my gear together. Whoever decides to go, meet me at the quinjet.”

“Natalia,” James said quietly blocking her path out of the kitchen. Steve was to her left and Tony came up on the right. A triangle.

“Yeah, Red—about that. We’re going to talk and we’re going to plan, but we’re doing it together.” Tony just kept stepping right into it, but Steve avoided her gaze and there was a flash of guilt in his eyes.

So that explained some of the fight earlier. “Or what?” She wanted to feel bad for putting him in that position.

“Nat,” Steve entered the conversation. “Sit down. Let’s brief you on Moscow…on what Bucky and Tony found. Also on the fact that the bounty on you has gone up. They really don’t want to kill you. What they want is you in one piece, and in their hands. So before we walk you in there, we need a plan that doesn’t involve just attack. No offense, Tony.”

“None taken, that’s my plan anyway, and I didn’t say you all could use it.” The snark should have made her laugh, but all she wanted to do was scream. Her skin was tingling all over, yes, another damn byproduct of tasing. But she had her head on straight and she wanted Clint back. They could argue all the wanted about anything else after that.

James didn’t flinch or move, nor did he look away. Steve and Tony would try to stop her but they’d be careful. James would not. He knew exactly what she was capable of and he’d already taken her down more than once.

Cooperation was the only way she was getting to Clint.

“Can we do it fast?”

The tension in his shoulders eased. Yes, she’d shown her hand. She capitulated. Steve slid an arm around her and nudged her toward the counter table and her abandoned coffee. “We absolutely can. Sit while we do please?”

If he hadn’t added the please, she might have stood for the rest just out of sheer spite…and the moment the thought landed, she crumpled it up and tossed it away. Spite and anger went hand in hand. Anger impaired critical thinking skills, and she needed to be playing with all her cards.

Fact.

The urge to get to Clint was a reasonable response. She’d wanted to rescue him from the first moment they’d realized he’d been taken. Also rational.

Fact.

He was most likely at Arkangelsk, the place she’d intended to go since she discovered the information in the London database all the way back in Paris.

Fact.

It was a trap.

Fact.

She didn’t care.

Fact.

Clint was her best friend and he pulled her out of the darkness. She would not leave him in it.

Fact.

This would go better if they were on her side in the fight.

Tugging the coffee to her, she affected poise and took a sip before saying, “Who starts?”

James and Steve both looked at Tony and he nodded. “Right then… let’s start with the bad news…” Which hopefully implied there would be good news.

Instead, he recounted what he and Steve had found in the house in Volgograd, including the children whom they assured her escaped, the labs, and the equipment. Finally, he detailed the self-destruct, which may have been triggered remotely, and finished it off describing the fight with Yuri.

Steve had missed the last part of it after Yuri knocked him out. The moment he gripped Tony’s shoulder and said _thank you for the save_ , and Tony nodded in acceptance and said _anytime,_ a little part of Nat’s present finally put itself back together again.

Maybe the Avengers would be okay after all.

Then Tony recounted Moscow and every word sent more cold through her. The chair. Karpov’s office. Ivan’s office. Files missing—specifically hers. James finally set a book down in front of her. Tony frowned, and Steve circled to see it—apparently they hadn’t shared this part before she woke up.

“You don’t have to look at that if you don’t want to…but they’re photos. All of you. From…infancy until sometime in the sixties, I think.” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “It was in Petrovitch’s office, most of it was trashed but that was sitting there right in the middle waiting.”

“Because they knew we’d go there.” They’d expected her to go and left it as what a lure? Another breadcrumb on the trail?

She flipped it open and looked at the first page. Steve made a low noise.

“Well, I guess I know how old I was when I arrived at the Red Room.” The date on the page made her blink. She’d never had that before. Just the year.

Was it another lie?

Did it matter?

“Nat, you said you found your parents,” Tony leaned on the counter top, studying her. “Do you mind telling me _how_ you found them?”

“I…I pulled some strings. I still have contacts in Russia. It’s how I got most of the information I had on the Winter Soldier and put together the file that I gave to Steve.” Not that it had ever had some key facts, like how she knew him. Some intelligence operative she was, she’d been selling herself lies.

Just like Hydra.

“Anyway, I got ahold of my KGB file, and then back traced to Volgograd—after the name change, it used to be Stalingrad. I went through old birth records from the late 20s and early 30s. You’d be surprised about the details they kept,” she murmured, flipping page by page. Some of the photos she remembered, sort of. The very young ones she didn’t, but as she grew older—she could even identify where she’d been in them. “Mother Russia kept records of her children, and not in church rectories or books because religion was not a thing for us.” And never had been. “I found three possibilities, eliminated two because those children had grown up, married and had children of their own. Not possibly me, but the third couple fit. They’d been buried, but only after a child had been born and recorded. There were no records for the child after that.”

Alian Vasilievich Fyodorov married Ekaterina Mikhailovna Rutskaya married June 21, 1929.

Romanova was apparently bestowed on her by the Red Room as well.

Joy.

“And you’re sure those are your parents?” Tony studied her, and she shrugged.

“As sure as I can be without digging them up and doing a DNA test. Does it really matter?” She flipped back to the front of the book and tapped the infant picture. She didn’t know a lot about kids, but she’d held a newborn Lila. This picture wasn’t far off that age. “I was there from the beginning. I didn’t really _have_ parents for longer than it took me to be born.”

And somehow, that didn’t disappoint her as much as she thought it might. All she’d _ever_ had was the Red Room.

“It matters because I think there’s more than the serum that makes you special,” Tony said with a grimace. “Well a lot more than the serum makes you special, what I’m talking about is special to them—to this program.”

“You think they bred me for it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Eugenics were a thing in the early part of the twentieth century.”

“Not in Russia,” Natasha contradicted him. “There was a movement, a brief one in the 1920s, but it was illegal and contradicted the party of equality.” She could even say that with a straight face. “The movement was shuttered and eradicated in 1930.”

Then she paused.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Before or after you were born?”

After. If the date on the page below was correct and if her memory of history was correct.

“They want you alive Nat, because they want your DNA.” Steve covered her hand again and this time she didn’t pull away.

“You are…their greatest creation.” Tony grimaced as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Alexei? Tanya? You said they’re pretty crazy, right? That the serum made them that way?”

“Well Alexei was a bastard beforehand, it just made him worse. Tanya—she wasn’t so bad, but the Red Room was hardly conducive to mental health, look at me.”

“I am looking at you. And him,” Tony said pointing to Steve, and then to James. “And  him. Dad always said that Erskine claimed his serum enhanced what was inside the person, not just their physical attributes.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That was the problem with Schmidt. He said the serum would make good great, and bad worse.”

“Right, so there’s you two that we know got versions of Erskine’s work,” he said pointing to James, then her. “And Steve, who go the one hundred proof variety.”

“The point Stark?” James interrupted and for the first time since the discussion began, he regarded Tony rather than her and she tried not to sigh too deeply in relief. She very much wanted some time to sit and talk to him, to try and figure this out and at the same time, a part of her wanted to run and keep running.

Clint. Focus on Clint. It was keeping her in the chair.

“The point genius, is they got lucky with the two of you, no one can tell exactly what it is about Steve that made him the right candidate. Sure personality we get it, but the genetic component is a big thing. People have been trying for _decades_ to recreate the magic bullet. We know Zola got close, but he still used Erskine’s work to get there.”

“It certainly didn’t make me a great man.” The dry response tugged at her.

“You’re a good man, James. A good man forced to do bad things.”

He just shook his head.

“Actually, she’s right.” Tony folded his arms and leaned back. “The way I see it, it enhanced your natural leanings—you’re a protective guy to hear it from Capcicle. You were the guy with the charm and the wit, you got him out of trouble a lot, so the serum would probably have made you harder to stop or outthink, and likely more determined than ever to accomplish a task if you felt it necessary.”

“It didn’t matter what I felt about tasks,” James argued. “I wasn’t allowed an opinion.”

“And that’s why they had to keep wiping you, because your natural inclinations kept surfacing. Which I think we’ve already established, and that brings us to you Red…”

“So sneaky becomes mind-blowingly duplicitous?” And did it matter? She was more than some damn serum. It might have helped her live this long, but it hadn’t done it alone.

“Nice try, but no. You’re confident, in both your beauty and intelligence. You’re one of the world's greatest spies if not the actual greatest, you can take down most opponents with almost superhuman abilities. You are a master of subterfuge, and you can talk people into traps swifter than anyone I’ve ever met. All of those, taken individually can be broken down by your training and used for good or bad. In fact, you’ve used them that way. But do you know the one quality you have that is not questionable? In any way?” Tony’s smirk grew, on some level he was reveling in this and after her psychological profile, she owed him one.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You’re fearless.” James stepped right on Tony’s moment and the billionaire gawped at him, then glared.

“Really?”

‘You were taking too long.” James shrugged. “She’s fearless, why is that important?”

“Because making good great—takes Steve’s very solid moral compass and turns him into the paragon of virtue. Takes your desire to protect and turns it into a relentless drive to accomplish, making you a virtually unstoppable force.” Then he cocked his thumb and forefinger at her. “Takes your natural bravery and turns it into fearlessness to the point of foolhardy. You not only don’t quit, you take the most obscene chances without regard for personal safety or consequences. Leaping onto speeding alien vessels ring a bell?”

“I get the job done.”

“Yes, you do. But with these two—it was a lottery. With you, they had a genetic plan, maybe not one they built but one they followed or at the very least took advantage of.” He really did like puzzles and the little bit of crowing he did when he solved one was adorable.

She considered it. “You know…if they want me alive that means they can’t hit me with their big guns.” Then she smiled. “Which means we can hit Arkangelsk through the front door.”

And dare them to shoot her.

“You don’t have to be walking or talking to be alive, Natalia.” James shook his head. “Maybe we should have added reckless to your list of attributes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I get it, they want me. They can’t have me. They do have Clint, we’re going to get him back. We shut down this operation and all the want in the world won’t matter. It’ll be gone. Closed. Finished.”

Until some other bastard tried to resurrect it and if she were still alive, she’d stop it, too.

The conversation went in circles for another half hour, but finally they decided on the prep and the plan. No one loved it, but they thought they could all live with it. The rest they'd have to make up as they went. She excused herself to find one of her burners. She had things to do before they left and a Steve to avoid because some conversations would be too painful facing down what they had to face.

If there was an after…she’d talk to him then.

Twenty minutes and a call to Isaiah later, she turned to find James sitting on the stone wall a few feet away from where she was smoking. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I came out to smoke,” he told her without even a hint of apology. “Wrap everything up with your attorney?”

“And how do you know it was my attorney?”

He shrugged and lit the cigarette before offering her the fresh one since hers had all but burned out. She shook off the ash, then dropped it into the cup with snow she’d made before accepting it. “Everyone else you seem to talk to is here, unavailable, or a mom and you were giving him deadlines. So why do you want to give a Violet Carson to Evey and what is she supposed to do with it in seven days? Actually, what’s a Violet Carson?”

Natasha sighed before taking a drag and shaking her head. “James, I’m not going to have this conversation with you. We’re already too entwined in ways I don’t get…at least I don’t fully get. But you don’t have the right to ask me for things.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care, doll.”

“You don’t know me,” she reminded him.

“I know you better than you think.”

“No,” she said, facing him. “You knew _her_. Maybe better than me.”

“You are her.”

“Tell that to Steve, as I recall you told him to stop fucking expecting you to be _him_.” At least he had the grace to look chagrinned at the comment. “You’re in my head…I’m seeing you and I’m hearing you, but I’m hearing who you were then, talking to who I was.”

He sighed and dropped to sit on the wall. “It’s confusing as hell. I have pieces…parts and I want the rest. I want to know it all.”

“Even the ugly parts—like the chair?” She couldn’t suppress the shiver of revulsion. To be blunt the only reason she was smoking rather than drinking was the cigarettes couldn’t impair her. Both were terrible habits, but really, what was it going to do? Kill her?

“I already remember it.” He shrugged. “After the highway…after Steve and I fought, when I shot you…I went back. My mission was over, incomplete, but over. They wanted to put me in the chair, but I was reluctant. None of them were really my handler so they couldn’t order me. Then Pierce came in…”

She made a face.

“Yeah,” he said, then gave her a look like what did she want him to say? “They called me unstable, erratic. Pierce wanted the mission report, but I didn’t answer. For some reason, he didn’t seem like the right handler. I kind of think I was waiting for Karpov after seeing you. Or maybe Pushkin. Anyway, he slapped me and demanded the mission report again. Barely felt the hit, but I told him that I knew Steve…and I think I knew you, too. I had a clear line of sight on that shot. I could have taken the head shot and you’d be down.”

But he hadn’t. He’d shot her through the shoulder.

“I didn’t want to kill you.”

“Well. To be fair, I took the headshot.”

He grinned. “It was a hell of a shot, sweetheart.”

She suppressed the flush of pleasure at the compliment. “Can we ease up on the endearments?”

“No promises,” he said, then took a drag as he picked at some imaginary lint on his pants. “Anyway, told Pierce I thought I knew Steve. He comes back at me with I saw Steve on a mission earlier in the week.”

“Fury.”

‘Yeah.” He squinted a look up at the sky, then at her and she shook her head.

“The light isn’t bothering me.”

“Good.”

“What did you say to Pierce after that?”

He grimaced. “You really want to know?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “But it’s there. Tied up in your memories of the chair, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Talking about it can take away its power.”

The skeptical look in his eyes almost made her laugh. Almost. “Really?”

A little head shake. “Not all of it, but sometimes.”

James grunted, then pinched off the end of his cigarette and set the filter on the wall next to him. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves. But I still argued that I knew Steve. I could see him, that scrawny kid…and Pierce ordered them to prep me and when they said it wouldn’t work, he ordered the wipe.”

Nat closed her eyes and shook her head. “I only remember the one time…and…God I’m sorry James.”

“You never did that to me Natalia.”

The memory in file room from Azzano swarmed her and she rubbed her arms. “I saw it once.”

His gaze sharpened on her.

“I think.”

So she told him what she could remember of it. “It’s fragmented. We were both there…in that room, you were surrounded, and drugged—they had you heavily drugged and had to carry you in—they kept guns on you so I wouldn’t run and I think they had guns on me in case you woke up. I knew we’d fought. I was bleeding and so were you. I was begging him not to do it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who were you begging?”

“Lyonya,” she whispered. “I can’t see his face, just the name and…

James rocketed to his feet, and his eyes blazed. “Lyonya?”

A nod.

“I’m going to guess you knew him.”

Another nod. “What happened?”

“You were waking up, they already had you in the chair. I begged, and Lyonya ignored me. I called out to you because you were already starting to fight and you answered…Little Spider. I’m going to guess that’s what you called me.” She sucked her lip between her teeth. “Then Lyonya ordered them to wipe you and told me not to worry—I was next. That’s when you and Steve found me in there with the chair.”

“Why didn’t you tell us then?”

She shook her head. “When? After the explosion? Or maybe in Budapest? Or Moscow? James, we haven’t stopped moving and I don’t know how much of that was real or not. I didn’t know then.”

“But you’re certain now.” It wasn’t a question.

“It…yes. Fine yes. It feels real now.” And she’d been so terrified for him. She would have done anything for him, and that feeling hadn’t diminished. Not even the chair had been able to take it away.

“Lyonya is the diminutive of Leonid,” James reminded her. But why would she have used an affection for that bastard? “Since we both recognized the voice on the PA, I’m going to bet it’s him.”

“That’s a gamble.”

“Maybe, but he never forgave me for breaking his arm—either time.”

“Then Steve is right…you are remembering more.”

He pushed away from the wall, and closed the distance between them. With a gentle hand he cupped her cheek before he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Enough. When you remember more, we’ll talk. I promise.”

“I hate this,” she told him.

“I know,” he said, seemingly smoothing some of her hair back though it was still braided. “We need time.”

“We’ve never had time.” The moment she said it, she knew it was true. They’d _never_ been allowed the time. How could they have been?

“So we do what we do. We rescue Clint. We kill Leonid. We get a drink and we talk.”

“You’ve got all the plans now?” She stepped away from the touch, carefully. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it made her want more and she couldn’t afford that.

Not right now.

“It’s not a bad one right?” But his gaze skipped past her and she didn’t need to turn to know who was there. The door opened and James said, “Steve.”

“Bucky.” Steve didn’t touch her, but he glanced down at her. “Nat?”

“After,” she said. “After all of this. We rescue Clint, we take Leonid and his operation, and then we all get a drink and talk.”

He glanced at James who nodded. “What she said. We all talk. We figure this out.”

“Okay,” Steve said, exhaling a long breath. “Okay. Now don’t hit me, but tell me the truth. Are you up for this? Both of you?”

“No,” James answered. “But I have to be. The place has to go and they aren’t going to stop coming for Natalia.”

“We need to get Clint,” she said. “I can’t leave him there. I won’t. And I can’t let another Red Room rise. If it’s the last thing I do, I just can’t.”

Steve held out an arm to James, and then tentatively slipped it around James when he joined them. As if sensing Steve’s hesitation, James braced an arm around him, and then they both extended an arm to her. This was nuts.

They were nuts.

She had no idea how to do this.

“After,” James repeated.

Steve nodded. “After.”

“Okay,” she said and let them pull her in. Closing her eyes she leaned into them and just let them hold her. It was equal parts terrifying and comforting. She didn’t want to need anyone, or want anyone like this.

Ever.

“After,” she said, then pulled back and turned away.

If there was an after…

 


	42. What if I fail?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get Clint back.

Chapter Forty-Two

_What if I fail_

Natasha

 

 

The silence on the quinjet as she flew toward Arkangelsk deepened. They were all lost in their own heads. A small screen gave her a view of the men behind her. Tony divided his attention between tinkering with his chest piece and reviewing news clips from the states. Probably Friday bringing him up to date. They’d all sort of fallen into this selfish little bubble of hers.

Tony and Steve should be with the other Avengers, ready to face threats head on. They should have already dealt with Ross and the Accords, allowing them to keep doing their job. Instead, they were playing fugitive recovery with her and on their way to what could potentially be an international incident.

No…if Alexei were running things—no. She shook her head. Alexei was clever, but he wasn’t a leader no matter how arrogant his behavior. He thought he deserved to lead, that others should bow to him through some right of his birth. His father was respected and powerful, therefore he should have been, too.

But he didn’t possess the actual capability.

Alexei was involved, but he wasn’t in charge. Yuri was dead, but he hadn’t even been able to lead an op. Tanya definitely possessed the skills, the intelligence, and the ability to be patient. But Tanya hated the Red Room, no matter how far she’d slipped her grip on reality, the idea she’d actively try to rebuild it? It didn’t make sense.

Either way, her gut said no.

Yes, she’d attacked in Budapest. But the wildness in her eyes, something had been off there. The wicked dance in Prague hadn’t betrayed similar madness. But a lot could have happened in the hours in between.

That left two—the so-called Piotr Ivanovich, Ivan’s pretender child and Leonid.

James’ reaction about Leonid was even more passionate than her own. But then he recognized him from what she described. So why would she be affectionate with someone who’d wanted to kill her for years? The Red Room did not instill trust in others serving there, least of all in the men who were arguably unbalanced on their best days and demented on their worst.

Had James been what they used to keep them in line?

They were an hour out, when the nape of her neck tingled with anticipation. “The facility is located on over a hundred hectares of private land. It’s secured with an electrified fence, patrols, and surveillance. The patrols are always random, shifting from day to day, no one on site has access to the schedule, the men are given their individual parameters and no one is questioned.” Every word James spoke shaded in another detail on her memories.

“Okay that’s paranoid even by my standards,” Tony commented.

“My intel is almost three decades old.”

“Prior to the Soviet collapse?” Steve asked, via the corner monitor she could see he’d joined Tony and James as they circled a holo display of the most recent satellite footage Tony had been able to get. The challenge had been the blackout over the region, Soviet satellites went dark when overhead and they used pulse emitters to try and distort any images from other satellites.

Even if they didn’t, tracking satellite positions was old school cold war tactics. Keeping the ground clear of visible movement when a satellite was in range had been the norm.

“Precisely, after that I was moved around, but I didn’t return here.” He didn’t add Pierce’s name. He didn’t have to. “This was a Department X facility.”

“After the government collapsed in 1991 and the KGB shuttered, there was chaos as assets scrambled for power, and resources. Many of those in the agency looted whatever they could get their hands on, intelligence, weapons, and contacts. Anything that they could leverage for security or payment.” Natasha shook her head. “It was difficult time period, and one where the compartmentalizing of data definitely hindered the survivors’ efforts rather than helped.”

“So they wouldn’t have been able to loot this place?” Tony glanced toward the cockpit, and she shrugged.

“Unlikely because they’d have to know it was here. While my memory might be spotty, I know we never advertised this location. The closest town is over eighty kilometers away. Transport in and out was always handled by division assets, and we were very unlikely to socialize. Nothing changed even during the war.” Though Madame had never evinced concern, the number of guns on the property had increased before she and the other girls had been sent to Moscow. “So what James remembers about the security is most likely what we’ll encounter at the very least. There’s no telling how long Alexei and the others have been based from here, or what improvements they may have added.”

“Then we stick with our original plan,” Steve said, staring hard at the layout. “Bucky and I will drop in at the five mile mark and run. That should put us in place by the time Nat hits the ground.” He still wasn’t a fan of her splitting away from them. “And Tony you sweep in behind us after you drop Nat. You’re the big gun we call in when we’ve got all the players marked.”

“Or if you three need your asses hauled out of there.”

“Clint first,” Natasha reminded him. “While I distract, if they fail to take the bait, I'll meet you on property. If they take it, then we make it work for us."

“Natalia…”

“We’re not debating it again, James. I know you don't like the idea, but I'm serious when I say it works over and over again, it works. We know they don’t want to kill me. I will buy time, once you get to Clint we'll rendezvous and get out.” The reality was they might have a lot of potential rescue targets down there. “I can handle whatever they throw at me.”

“Doesn’t change the fact we don’t like it,” Steve grumbled, but he still secured his shield.

“And if they have whatever it was Murdock warned me about? A leash for you?” Tony wasn’t looking at the cockpit, he was staring at the terrain, the great manor house which looked more like something out of an 18th century novel’s noble estate than a house of horrors. But looks had always been deceiving.

“Having it or not having it wouldn’t change whether I was with all of you or not. In fact if they do, it’s safer for me to not be near you.” She did not want to attack Steve again, even if he and James could take the hits Tony couldn’t. If she lashed out at Tony, without his armor she’d likely kill him.

“Red, we really need to work on your comforting skills. Because they suck.”

“If you want me to lie to you Tony, I can do that,” she drawled slowly, and added a smile. “But you boys all tend to get a little touchy when I downplay the potential problems.”

“Then don’t downplay them, Natalia,” James moved to stand behind her chair. Awareness of him shivered over her. “Tell them what you can and will do to protect yourself. They know your skills, and your capabilities. Remind them.” Underneath the cool advice was an undercurrent of _reassure me._

Maybe the Soldier was very aware of her capabilities, but Bucky Barnes wasn’t and whoever James was becoming—and she made no mistake, he was still in transition—he was somewhere in between.

She could do that—she could repeat it all as many times as necessary. This whole thing only worked if they trusted each other.

“We’re at t-minus fifteen to your drop boys,” she said. “So let’s go over this one more time…”

Twenty minutes later, she arced away from where she’d left Steve and James. She’d gone as low as she dared and they’d leapt to the ground, rolled and were on their feet and moving with a comms check. They all had them, but they wouldn’t rely on them because they weren’t dealing with the tech illiterate.

She had traded with Tony to finish her own gear check. The closer they came to drop point, the calmer she became. Missions like this were what she’d trained for. Once upon a time, Clint had remarked, she was a spy and not a soldier. It wasn’t like her to wade into a war. Yet, a soldier had trained her and she’d been at war her whole life.

“Any reckless thoughts you want to share before we dive in?” Tony asked over his shoulder.

“Not particularly.” Bites charged. Glocks strapped to her thighs. Blades in her boots and her belt. Garrote around one wrist. Tony’s wristband around the other. It was activated for Friday to track and listen. Her pulse remained steady, and as an afterthought, she traced her fingers against her cheek and eye. The last of the bruising had faded. She was in the best shape she was going to be for this.

“The clock starts when I hit the ground.” She maneuvered to the back, then down to where the bike rested. A flip of a switch opened the center floor and moved the bike into the deployment cradle. They had a plan, and she trusted all three men to get Clint out. That was the primary objective.

She would take care of the secondary one.

Unless they’d made significant changes, she knew where all the weapons lockers were on site. She’d made it a point to know. Even if she couldn’t find C-4 or Semtex, she’d use natural gas, fertilizer, and little ingenuity. They should have burnt this place down a long time ago.

“Five minutes,” Tony warned her. “Friday take the wheel.”

Joining her by the bike, he eyed her for a long moment.

“It’s going to work,” she promised. It had to, failure wasn’t an option.

“I’ll be there when you need me.” His promise.

“I know.”

“Three minutes Ms. Romanoff.” Friday reminded her and she slid onto the bike, getting the engine ready to fire when she dropped so she could use the momentum to race up the road. The quinjet would fire, and take out the main gate and she would drop into the chaos and conflagration inside the secured perimeter. The point was to make some noise and have them all looking for her.

“Red?” At her glance, he added, “Don’t hit me.” Then he closed the distance and brushed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, a light pressure, almost a gift. There and then gone again. He grinned. “For luck.”

“Liar…that was on your bucket list, wasn’t it?”

“One minute Ms. Romanoff.”

“Maybe.” But he winked, and then sobered. “Don’t whelch on our bet.”

She didn’t shifted her grip to the handles of the bike. “The bet’s next on our list.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“Ten seconds Ms. Romanoff.”

Tony backed up a step, his hand on the control panel. The quinjet fired, and there was a soft boom of an explosion. Then the floor opened and she dropped onto the road, the engine firing as she leaned into the acceleration and raced through the flames. The rush of heat flowed around her. Even though the jet wasn’t visible, she knew he’d peeled away. “Comms check,” she murmured leaning into the curve of the rough paved road. It hadn’t aged well, cracks splitting through the foundation, and crumbling along the edges.

The land provoked memories even as she raced past. She’d run in that field with Yelena, raced another to the river. She’d done her winter training the small lake, and pursued her targets in the woods. Her childhood played out in a series of vignettes. Most of them broken by the hell she'd been exposed to here, perhaps that was why the kinder moments were so sweet.

The string of checks from James, Steve, and Tony shoved away the nebulous memories. It had been almost eighty years since her first sojourn at Arkangelsk. Would it have mattered to the girl she’d been if she’d realized how much this place would change her?

At the next bend, she spotted a camera and whipped out her gun. She slowed only enough to not throw off her aim. Her first shot blew it right off its post. Then she slid the gun back into her holster and continued on. She’d reach the house, and the other facilities soon. Keeping her focus forward, she took out two more cameras along the road.

While there was no way to tell if they were active or not, she had to assume they were. The act of disabling them should also net the attention she wanted focused on her.

Then all of sudden, there she was—Tanya. Standing in the middle of the road. Natasha applied the brakes and rode up on the front wheel to stop without hitting her. “Contact,” she said into the comms. A little sooner than planned, but only by a scant couple of minutes.

“Natalia,” Tatiana said, and she sounded almost sorrowful. “You shouldn’t have come.” Well at least she wasn’t hurling epithets or death threats.

Dismounting, she eyed the other woman. “You knew I would. They had to know I would.”

“They counted on your weakness,” Tatiana sneered. “A Widow should have no weakness.”

Natasha shrugged. “What’s your play? We going to revisit the past again?”

“Maybe.” A fresh bruise marred her jaw, and her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Unlike Nat, she wasn’t wearing a tact suit but instead dressed more casually in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She looked ready to spend a day at the mall, not fight the Black Widow on the highway to the hellmouth. “I’ve missed talking to someone who understands.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be hanging out with Alexei, Leonid, and what is it—Piotr?” Then almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’d say sorry about Yuri, but he should have been dead ages ago.” Should have been. Would hopefully stay dead this time.

Tanya laughed. “You were always so picky. Yuri wasn’t so bad in bed, he could follow instructions very well.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I never wanted to know.” With any of them. Ever.

“Don’t be like that—you and Alexei would have been a cute couple.” Her smirk went to a dark place. “Too bad the Soldier interfered, maybe they wouldn’t be so sore at you now.”

Tucking that little nugget of information away, Nat palmed one of the stingers as she offered a second shrug. “It would never have happened.”

“Oh it might, you know Fenhoff could make us do anything, I once saw him talk a man into putting on a bomb vest, happily, and then walk into the SSR offices like it was the most natural thing in the world.” Her lips pursed. “He almost got Howard Stark to bomb New York, too. The man was truly gifted.”

“Tanya,” Nat said quietly. “Are we fighting or are you walking away?” It was the last time she would make the offer. She’d helped her in Prague, let her go in Budapest, but here? No, if she wanted to make it a fight here, Nat would end her.

“They want me to slow you down,” Tatiana admitted, stretching her arms wide as if offering a hug, then dropped them to rest her hands on her hips. “Alexei is still a pig, but he isn’t making the plans.”

Nat was aware.

“Leonid is the one you have to watch out for. He wants you to pay. You and the Soldier both.”

Confirmation was always nice.

Tanya’s grin turned sly. “You’re waiting for me to confirm Piotr, aren’t you?”

“I’m waiting for you to answer my question, and if you don’t I’ll decide for you.” The key to getting someone to brag was to be as disinterested as possible in what they’d already offered, particularly if it’s useful. Some people just had to dig themselves in deeper, wanting to make an impression.

The playfulness left her face and Tanya straightened. “He has my keys, Natalia. He didn’t know who Fenhoff was, but he knew enough to get me to tell him. To get me to find you. To leave the clues to bring you here.”

“London.” It wasn’t a question. She’d gotten a tip.

“Sorry.” Tanya’s smile was as insincere as her apology. “I thought I was done, until you called me in Prague.”

“But they were watching you.” While she hadn’t been the first to pull her back into this world, she hadn’t kept her out of it.

“Someone is always watching,” Tanya looked away from her to stare out over the field. Their breath fogged in the cold air. The layer gray clouds couldn’t quite blot out the sun’s rays, but it did mute them. The whole world was washed out. “Didn’t you always think it funny they called it the Red Room?”

“Because it was always so dark and gray?”

“Yeah,” Tanya exhaled the word, her voice climbing a soft half note. “The clothes. The rooms. Even the wood after a while. So… devoid of color. That’s what I always liked about the west—the bright suits, the brilliant hats, and so much color.”

Color was a fleeting thing in their world, and a reason to treasure it.

“There will be flowers in the spring,” she continued, pointing toward one of the ancient oaks. “Wildflowers there.”

“I remember.”

Tanya glanced at her. “Will you make sure I’m there when the flowers come?”

“If you wish,” she said, something in her chest tightening. They had never really been friends, but she hadn’t wanted Tatiana to make this choice.

“I do.” Straightening, she faced Nat. “I think we’ve wasted enough time. They’ll be impatient because I haven’t brought you to them and they’ll come soon. So we should do this.”

A shaft of sunlight penetrated the clouds and cast down on the road. Tanya glanced up at abruptly and grinned.

“Now that’s a show…”

Nat didn’t wait; she flowed forward and had her hands on her neck, and then twisted it. The break was too swift to make her feel pain or fear. Then she caught her as she fell and cradled her a moment. Tanya’s eyes were still open, and a smile still curved her lips.

She looked happier than at any point Nat had seen her in her life.

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she shifted her grasp to lift her. She’d promised to take her to where the flowers were. Easing her down off the road, she tucked her against an outcropping, as though setting her to watch the tree.

With a gentle hand, she closed her eyes then cupped her cheek, promising her silently to bury her where she asked if she was able.

“One threat neutralized,” she said into the comms. They would know who. Her comms had been left open for a reason.

Thankfully, none of them offered her sympathy. After a kiss to her forehead, Natasha rose and returned to the bike. A scan of the area didn’t reveal anyone watching her, but there were at least three possible positions for a sniper. Packing away her grief for now—she’d examine the why of it later—she made her way back to the bike. She had a role to play in all of this. And Tanya warned her about Piotr, whoever he was, and she mentioned Fenhoff—a name who only had some shadowy connotations in her holey memory.

But there was something about him she should remember. She just couldn't focus on it right now.

Restarting the bike, she got back on the road. Far sooner than she would have liked, she was in front of the house.

Alone.

No one waited on the steps.

No guards.

Nothing.

The dark gothic architecture added to the unpleasant facing, and air of ominous history.

“Guys,” she murmured. “We might have a problem.”

She parked far enough back to give her a good view of the windows and arguably for them to have a good view of hers. They were mostly shuttered, but even those with the shutters open were dark. No hint of movement.

A dried out fountain overgrown with weeds and stacked with debris occupied the center of the courtyard before the house. What artifacts it might have had for decorations were long gone.

The past overlaid the present for a moment, and she stared up at the tall building as she had the first time she arrived here. She’d been so young and it had seemed so large. Now, it was just a boil rising out of the past.

 _You knew this was a trap._ They’d discussed it. It was a trap, the best call was to spring the trap and here she was and they weren’t here.

“Guys?” She moved toward the building, one cautious step at a time. Keeping the chatter down was one thing. She tracked her gaze across the building, then to the surroundings. No signs of movement. No voices on the comm.

A tap, she checked it was on. Definitely a hum of a signal being connected, but perfect silence. Not even white noise.

Jammers?

They had cut off like this when she was in the vault in Azzano.

This wasn’t a vault.

“Friday?”

The AI should be able to access the comms system either through the quinjet or through Tony’s suit.

Well, she’d been waiting for something like this. It was close on the list, but not an exact match. “Friday if you can copy but not transmit. I’m at the main house and I’m going inside.”

All that was left was to trust that the guys would follow the plan even if they couldn’t hear her.

The front doors were a massive construction; a person could probably drive a large SUV through them when they were both open. Though heavy, the one opened easily enough after she checked for hidden wires or traps. Inside, the circular foyer extended to several floors, with railings along the edges for those floors to look down. The grand staircase in front of her was soul shuddering.

She’d walked down it or one very similar to it so many times. She knew every creak in the wood, where to put her feet so she wouldn’t alert anyone to her movements. What began as a game became habit. An instinct that would keep her alive.

No one rushed out to greet her, not even the ghosts. The loneliness inside crushed in on her. She ignored the stairs, all that would be up there were the dormitories, classrooms, and quarters for the visiting officers or instructors. James had a room on the third floor, at the far end of the hall. Hers had been in the fourth floor dormitory until she graduated, then she’d snagged a room on the second floor, on the opposite side. It had never stopped she or James from finding each other though.

Shaking off that wash of memory, she began clearing the first floor, room by room with one glock in her hand. Dust floated idly in the random streams of light filtering through some of the broken shutters. In one room, chairs had been knocked over, a game of backgammon still laid out in mid move with the dice and six and four. Depending on whose turn it was, that was a good roll. Age had left its mark on the pieces along with a good coating of dust to dull the white and red pieces.

The fireplace was cold, and not even a whiff of old wood smoke clung to the musty air. The point was to get her to Arkangelsk. She was here. They sent Tanya out to the road to intercept her…

… _to delay me. But she used it to stage her own escape._ She’d also done it to give Nat some clues. They wanted her to bring Nat in, but why send Tanya for her when they were right here.

Unless they weren’t.

Fenhoff.

Piotr.

Keys.

Leonid.

Alexei.

Two mad super soldier serum infused maniacs and a lunatic claiming to be the heir to Ivan…Three on one would be a challenging fight. But she didn't know all the pieces. She had to have all the pieces. If they left one behind, even by accident, it would come again. 

She returned to the central foyer, and moved to the door under the stairs. The door that led down to the dark heart of the facility. Of course there weren’t even a row of dingy bulbs to lead her down into the darkness.

They knew she was coming…why all the suspense?

They’d practically invited her because they wanted her DNA or whatever.

At the base of the stairs she found her first camera. Done with this little game, she thumbed off the safety and put the gun under chin. “I’m done playing your game boys.”

Static popped in the speakers, some releasing a waft of dust as they kicked on. A soft laugh bounced through the sound system. “So you finally figured it out, Natalia?”

“Really wasn’t that hard. You’re no where near as mysterious as you think you are.”

“Wasn’t trying to be mysterious.” Leonid’s voice sounded tinny, the speakers distorted it. But since she’d placed it, she could hear it beneath the disruptions. “Wanted you to know exactly why we were doing this.”

Tipping her head to the side, she kept a watchful eye on her surroundings while also putting on the front of maintaining eye contact with the camera. “You’re boring the hell out of me, Lyonya.”

“Do _not_ use that name.” The snarl and snap made her grin. Oh, she was definitely going to use that name.

“What’s the matter Lyonya? Too familiar?” She smirked, rubbing her chin against the barrel of the gun as though gently scratching an itch. “I’m assuming you wanted some face time before this was over, if not then you’ve wasted both of our time.”

A door in the distance slammed, and footsteps approached her position. She leaned against the alcove in the wall. Lights began to flicker on, the bare bulbs offering a dingy yellow glow to illuminate the darkness. Alexei appeared in one of the puddles, his dirty blond hair appearing almost soft.

“Natashen’ka,” he said by way of greeting. The chill dark of his eyes hadn’t changed one iota in all the years since their unfortunate first meeting. Still taller than her, he’d thickened through the shoulders and chest. The size didn’t bother her though. “You will hurt Leonid’s feelings if you pull that trigger.”

“I've yet to ever give a shit about his feelings.” The conversational tone was almost pleasant. “If his feelings can be hurt, then he is weak.”

Another slam farther down the hall and Alexei glanced over his shoulder with a laugh. It was as if he didn’t care how close she stood or that she was armed. Then again, she holding herself hostage. While she might have been in weirder situations in the past, she was hard pressed to identify one. 

“You are the failure, Natalia.” Leonid in all his raging glory joined Alexei. “You let your foolish feelings for the Soldat tarnish the work you were supposed to do to protect Mother Russia.”

Standing in the middle of the hallway on the first basement level of the Arkangelsk facility with two madmen not launching to attack her, or restrain her was unusual. The charges Leonid leveled were bizarre. “I’m sorry, I speak several languages but crazy is apparently not one.”

His scowl deepened at the insult. God, they were so easy to bait. They always had been and they’d never cared to correct the oversight. She just couldn’t resist poking them with a stick, every single time. Soldat would not let her spar with them because they could barely contain themselves when she was watching. It would have been a thousand times worse were she the one fighting.

Or more fun.

Depending on how you looked at it.

“You were the _best_ and the _brightest_ of us all. You had one task, one charge—to protect Mother Russia. Imagine my surprise to wake to a world where the Soviet Union has dissolved.”

Oh.

“You. Failed.” He stomped forward his finger jabbing in her direction to punctuate each word.

“Well, bless my bleeding heart however will I live with myself that a regime failed. It was hardly the first and it won’t be the last.” Quirking an eyebrow, she tracked Alexei’s shifting position as he moved a step to the left as Leonid came forward. They wanted to box her in.“You know, for someone who thinks I'm a failure, you've worked awfully hard to get my attention. Not enough experimentation to keep you busy these days?”

Silly fools.

“It never works,” Alexei announced.“None of the others work, but you do.”

“That's because I'm special,” she said with an absolute straight face.“I ate all my fruits and vegetables every day.”

“You mock, Natalia. But you know as well as I had you not allowed yourself to be distracted, if you had not openly defied orders—if you hadn’t _killed_ Karpov, none of this would be happening.”

“Oh, I killed him?” Genuine pleasure speared through her. “Delightful. Do you want to share any more details? I’d love to hear them.”

“Would you like to hear the details, Natalia Alianova Romanova?” All three of her names on the tongue of a new arrival—okay, as distractions went, she thought she had all of them. It would be _really_ nice to know if Steve and James had gotten to Clint. But even on this basement level, she would be able to hear the sounds of explosions alerting her to Tony moving in, comms or not if extraction had been a go ahead.

“Always,” she said with a wide grin. Man these guys were all over the place. “Even better if Leonid isn’t the one talking. He’s such a bore.”

The veins on his neck stood out, as if he were physically restraining himself from charging her. What was it Tony said about being reckless? Alexei shifted another step.

The man who made his way out of the shadows appeared moderately nondescript, brown hair, brown eyes, and plain clothing, ordinary features, with a nose that had likely been broken at some point in his life. Not someone most people would have looked at twice on the street or anywhere else. He was utterly forgettable, except…

Her smile faded.

He used to work at SHIELD under the ubiquitous moniker of John Smith.

“Agent Smith,” she greeted him dryly. At least this close she could confirm it—he looked nothing like Ivan.

“Black Widow.” He made an exaggerated bowing motion. “I didn’t think you knew who I was.”

Who the hell was in charge here?

“Just because I didn’t care, doesn’t mean I don’t notice things.” Like an awareness of every agent she came into contact with, in particular those who were out of place or had a tendency to stare. “You tended to frequent the gym a little too often when I was there.”

“Maybe we had the same time off.”

She snorted, and didn’t dignify that with a response. Not when she never made a regular appearance while at SHIELD and always varied her schedule. She’d thought him some guy with a crush maybe, but apparently she’d missed another rat in the trap.

“Take another step Alexei, and the conversation will end rather abruptly.” He wanted to get into her blind spot, but as long as she kept her gun right under her chin even Leonid seemed to keep his distance. At her warning, he motioned Alexei to back up and he returned to her periphery.

It might be unnerving to realize how badly they wanted her alive.

Or maybe nauseating.

“You wanted a story…about Karpov?” Smith wanted her attention.

“Actually, I don’t care,” she told him. “Who are you, anyway? These two idiots I know. You’re new.”

“You know me,” he said, his smile as bland as the rest of him. “Don’t you see the family resemblance? Ivan Petrovitch was my father, too? That makes us siblings after a fashion.”

Well, if her stomach hadn’t already turned it would have now. “Hardly. He was not my father.” The closest thing she’d ever had to one did not count.

Smith laughed, and it was the least friendly sound she’d ever heard. “Fine, he could have been my father. He and I are so alike. And you know, you were his favorite, so that had to make you mine as well.”

The flicker of motion had her releasing her the taser disk from her left hand. It caught Leonid in the palm as he tried to block it and the zap sent him to his knees, as she fired the gun at Alexei. The bullet caught him in the shoulder as he tried to twist and avoid the hit, a moment later she had the hot barrel of the gun under her chin again as Smith dragged a trembling and sweaty Leonid backward.

“Stop,” he hissed. “You know we can’t risk her being injured.”

“Bored now,” Natasha announced. “Pulling the trigger in ten, nine…”

“If you do that, all of your friends will die.” Leonid spit out the words, but he wasn’t steady on his feet. Those little discs really stung. Good to know they could affect him. She’d happily give him a handful. Alexei had made it to his feet, and he had a hand over his shoulder where the blood soaked his shirt. She couldn’t have hit anything too vital; he was standing.

“That’s a tired threat Leonid, it didn’t work in Budapest, and it’s not going to work now…”

“No? We took your hawk in Budapest.” Fair point. “And you did not come alone, we knew who would be along for the ride and we watched for them.”

“It was easy,” Smith added, all smiles again. “I’ve read every single one of your mission reports, Hawkeye’s too. Seen footage of your battles. You lost this fight before you even got here. We’ve had years to get this ready—to prepare for you and your Avengers. And you didn’t even bring the hardest ones. You wouldn't believe the amount of prep I had to do for them, but you can tame the big guy, so it would work out. Oh well, maybe next time.” He genuinely sounded disappointed.

Someone who wanted the other guy to be here? Was he insane?

“And your weakness for your hawk is what will kill them all,” Alexei spit. “You should have cut your losses, and gone. But no, you kept coming, just like we knew you would.”

Well, considering the company Smith was keeping, she could almost be certain the answer was yes.

Leonid’s whole posture relaxed, as if he knew he’d already won. “Lower the weapon Natalia,” he suggested. “If you end your life, we will just end theirs. No torture because it would serve no point—all save the Soldier. Him we could use again and we can take the time to program him if we must.”

The key to a successful mission, even one that goes sideways, was to adapt to the changes and seek out the weak spots exploit them.

Alexei was definitely a weak spot.

“Why go to all this trouble?” Because, really, that was a sticking point. “If you wanted to punish me for failing to prevent the collapse of a house of cards like the Soviet Union, why not just put a bullet in my head? You used to be a decent shot.”

What weaknesses of Smith could she use? 

“You know why,” Leonid said with a dismissive wave. “You know what we did to dissidents and defectors.”

Leonid hated her too much. He'd wanted her. That insight came out of no where. He'd  _wanted_ her attention, and she'd  _never_ offered it. To him or to Alexei or to any of them. Suddenly his presence at the chair in Azzano made sense.

He hated the Soldier for having what he wanted.

“Yes, _we_ killed them.” She didn’t shy away from it. “Up close, long distance, didn’t matter. Dead was dead. We didn’t play ridiculous games with them.” She flicked a look to Smith, his hands were clenched and was he humming? What the hell? “Are we boring you now?”

 

“Of course not,” Smith said smoothly. “But we could have this conversation in a far more comfortable setting.”

So just the three of them were present, and no more guards or backup. Maybe she should just end this right here. Except…and why the hell was he humming again?

Humming.

_“From what Murdock said, he overheard…some Russians talking about this guy and Petrovich. Claims that Petrovich held your leash and this guy knows how to as well.”_

Whatever melody he was searching for, he did not need to find. She slipped her second gun out and fired. Leonid yanked him away even as she drew and then Alexei charged. It was close quarters, but she’d fought them both before. They were hurt, and she wasn’t. She had Alexei down when Leonid caught her with a blow to the side of the head, then she was airborne and flying. Her guns had already gone from her hand. Hitting the far wall, she bounced to her feet and then the lights flooded the place, stinging her eyes with the sudden brightness.

Alexei and Leonid weren’t alone, goons—because really they dressed like goons, and they acted like them—rushed into the hall and then she was in a fight to keep them off her. They weren’t terrifically skilled. When she couldn’t get an angle to break a neck, she broke an arm or a leg. Whatever dropped them.

Neither Alexei nor Leonid approached in the fray and that didn’t fit them. Where had they gone? Not that she had time to look, the bastards just kept coming. She had her knives out and the men dropped even faster. Fortunately, not all of them got up again. The foolhardy few who stumbled back to their feet, bleeding or broken, got put down a second time and she made sure they didn’t get back up.

Still, the constant flow of assailants kept her pinned to the far side of the hallway. Instead of overwhelming her, they started dancing in and out of the fray as if they just needed to keep her busy. Exhaustion in combat was a very real thing.

But she was the Black Widow.

She could literally do this all day.

Eventually they would run out…

…and then Leonid and Alexei would step in. Damn cowards.

They wanted to wear her down. Her mind skipped three steps ahead, tracking the target who had a knife of his own, she let him get close then slipped under his guard and used his forward thrust to take out the guy who’d worked his way behind her. A sharp kick to the knee dislocated the joint and then she was over him and kicking him into the others.

Understanding they weren’t going to press their advantage with overwhelming numbers, she let them offer themselves up to the slaughter. Fuck if it wasn’t one, too. Try as she might to conserve life, she would not waste time on the effort here. These men—hired or not—had a goal to capture or at the very least detain her and they didn’t have to keep coming, especially if they’d seen what happened to those who came at her first.

She fell into the rhythm, her body knew exactly what to do as she calculated trajectories and impacts. Some she allowed because they wouldn’t cripple her and still put her in a position to take down the assailant. Others she avoided, darting beneath them to let them collide with one of their own.

A dozen or more bodies were on the floor, and she had to dance to avoid getting tripped up. When arms closed around her from behind, she hooked her arm back and pulled her whole body off the floor, and threw them off. A stray fist caught her in the jaw, and another blow along her arm, but she writhed away from the arm lock before digging her blade between his ribs.

If a hand flew at her, she captured it, then broke the fingers, and twisted the wrist, until she had control then flipped the whole body. A dozen different maneuvers executed flawlessly because her body knew the movements and she danced. The dark, dirty floor her stage. Somewhere between losing track of Alexei and Leonid, and having her knife carried away by one of the targets, clarity snapped through her. She could take them all.

She’d been made for this.

She had to let it go to catch another hand striking for her face, and she twisted that hand out, and slammed their elbow, breaking the arm before completing the turn and driving her elbow into the back of his head. When he went down it left her a clear path to the guy running at her, and she met him, climbing him, she launched off his knee and shoved her knee into his chest, before she hard her legs around his neck and twisting.

When she landed on her feet, she turned to find Leonid cracking his knuckles. “Impressive. You’ve gotten better,” he said with a smile.

Conserving her oxygen, she waited for him to make his move her awareness of her surroundings on a 360 swivel. Right now, she had a slight advantage if she forced him to come to her, he’d have to avoid the bodies littering the floor between them. And she had all the time in the world.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Smith said sounding eerily like Ivan, and when he hummed three notes she barely recognized the refrain and the world went staticky. Frozen. She was frozen. Some part of her mind examined the compulsion. So infuriating, all the years of digging out left over brainwashing and controls seemed to have flushed down the toilet. 

Dammit.

“You could not have done this earlier?” Alexei demanded, his accent flaring over the diction perfect English. Neither had fallen back on their native Russian. Belatedly the information drifted across her mind like a piece of dandelion fluff caught on a breeze.

Smith didn't speak Russian. He pretended to be Russian, but he wasn't one. His mannerisms and linguistics were American. 

“It is far more difficult than I imagined, he keyed it to both phrase and music, and I had to mimic his voice entirely.” Smith huffed. “Who knew he made it specific to him?”

She could have told him that. Ivan Petrovitch demanded absolute loyalty and obedience.

“Let’s get her to the chair.” Pain discolored every word in Alexei’s voice. She should have shot him twice.

The cold slashed through her.

“Not yet,” Leonid argued. “You know the steps are specific. The fight made her vulnerable. The suggestion is there. Now we must complete the next part.”

What the hell were they talking about? And why could she process what was happening but she couldn’t actually see or feel anything, it was like she’d totally dissociated. Was that the trigger?

“You just want to punish the Soldier,” Alexei spit.

“Yes,” Leonid agreed. “I do. He was a weapon who failed to protect Russia, and he broke the Widow.”

Smith snorted. “It was probably the other way around.”

There was a sound of a flesh striking flesh, and a harsh sound. “You are here for one purpose, have a care you do not outlive your usefulness.”

“You can’t control her and I can, so I’m pretty sure my usefulness is secure.” Smith spit after he spoke. The _control her_ line rasped against her. This guy wasn't playing their game, he was, but he was playing a different game. Were Leonid and Alexei too far gone to hear it? 

Then again, why wasn't she aware of this particular trigger? If Ivan had done this to her before, wouldn’t she have remembered it? She remembered Ivan. She remembered how he would speak to her, a hand on her shoulder, a careful touch to her hand, a gentle phrase and always, always he thanked her for her cooperation.

Never had it done _this._ Whatever this was?

Fine, Leonid needed to move on to the bragging portion of his play. She needed verification the guys were all right since there was a distinct lack of explosions or screaming—well anymore. She’d killed or maimed the ones in this hallway.

Hands grabbed her arms roughly and then she was dragged. Oddly dragged, she didn’t try to resist, she just didn’t pick up her feet and cooperate. They physically had to move her. The hallway seemed to go on forever, then they were descending—an elevator?

So they were on one of the lower levels where the labs were.

And the chair.

Revulsion crawled through her. This had better work, Natasha. She reminded herself she’d come up with this plan, and the guys agreed. They had done their part.

Hopefully.

Now she needed to do hers. But she had to get out of whatever this mental mousetrap was.

They stopped abruptly and then she was being dragged out. Still her legs and arms wouldn’t do what she asked them to do. The lack of control infuriated her, she was a weapon—her whole body trained for one purpose and it wouldn’t work?!

Almost as soon as the anger swelled, she mentally closed her eyes because she couldn’t even see out of her real eyes. Anger served nothing. Anger made her weak. Anger blinded to what was around her. She calmed, compartmentalizing the frustration. It didn’t help at all. She had to keep her head. Stay rational.

She’d closed a damn alien portal because she’d done that before. She could do this.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Leonid called out in English. “How nice to see you all awake.” He sounded so rational. “Even you dog.” Except when he did that.

“Can’t say we’re happy to see you…and you do realize slipping your date a roofie is illegal in most parts of the world.” Tony sounded fine, he sounded better than fine. His snark was intact. “Not to mention chicken shit. Real men don't need roofies.”

“That looks like it hurts,” came a sweetly familiar voice, almost idle and bored. “Tasha give you that?” Clint. God. She’d missed him.

“Shut up,” Alexei slammed something against bars.

Okay, bars meant cells or cages of some kind. Also fell into the parameters of what they expected.

“Poor little big man, she really does pack a wallop.” Clint just kept poking the bear. “Maybe if you learn to use your words and ask nicely, she wouldn’t shoot you.”

No word from Steve or James yet, but they might be biting their tongues. They’d been less than thrilled about the plan, but she’d pointed out people get cocky when they think they have you under their control. They reveal things they would rather were secrets, and they didn’t look for the twist. Clint was already in and they needed to get straight to him.

Allowing themselves to be captured while she _delayed_ would give them a bargaining chip.

So they were all here, and now she was locked in this mental box—so almost to plan. Think Tasha, he hummed a few bars, what was the melody? It was like the worst of earworms, it hovered in the back of her mind but she couldn’t quite hear it and she couldn’t quite identify it.

The abrupt feeling of sitting sent a spark of apprehension to fire through her system. They dragged her arms to the sides—wooden. The armrests were wooden. Not the _chair_. She tensed regardless. Rope curled around her wrists, then her forearms and securing to the chair.

Was he really tying her to a chair? She couldn’t function and they were securing her to a chair?

Maybe they weren’t as stupid as she’d thought.

Next came ropes around her ankles, no her calves. They were lashing those to the chair too. That complicated matters.

A voice hissed against her ear, “ _Uvidimsya, ty izbezhish' etogo, suka_.”

Don't worry, Leonid. She fully planned on getting out of the trap.

No snapped defense from James. Somewhere within one knot of tension relaxed. If James had been right about Leonid, and his anger, getting a rise out of him would have been high on Leonid’s list. Better to let him take a few stabs without drawing blood.

Still, she tried to puzzle out the box, the awareness extended beyond it for all of her senses except sight. Problematic, but not insurmountable.

“You know I expected the Avengers to be tough,” Alexei still sounded pained, maybe wrapping his shoulder but settling in to pull the wings off bugs. It was something he enjoyed. The tormenting of those he considered lesser. “But you aren’t all that much…not even you Iron Man. Not so strong without your suit of armor, are you? And you Soldier, you could tear through an entire division, and you go down with one tranquilizer. Granted, we brewed thenm for bears and modified them for aliens, but you disappoint.”

She could almost _hear_ Tony roll his eyes. He really did get that a lot. Everyone underestimated him.

Even her.

“What’s the point of this?” Impatience struck a match in Steve’s tone. “You wanted her here, you have us in cells, kidnapping civilians, booby trapping buildings, and testing old formulas—what the hell is it you actually want?”

Ut oh. Steve said a bad word. The insane need to giggle at the absurdity of it all trickled through her.

How did she get out of this box? Why would Ivan have done something like this and how could she have missed it when he did? Ivan hadn’t liked the chair, he’d been profoundly against it.

The one decent thing he’d ever done was argue with Karpov over putting her in the chair.

The memory broke loose like a remnant of shattered glass coming loose and falling down.

“Captain Rogers,” Leonid said, drawing out his name. He murmured something in Russian, it was too low for her to hear, but there was movement behind her and a hand struck her face. Pain flared all along her the nerves of her cheek. Heat pouring in to the area and lighting it up.

But it didn’t knock open the box.

Pity.

“Please keep talking, I can...what is it you say? Do this all day.”

A second slap caught the opposite side of her face. So now she flamed on both cheeks.

Fantastic.

No third hit, just shuffling steps.

She hadn’t heard Smith in a while, had they misplaced him?

Think, Natasha.

Ivan created a trigger. What had Smith said? It could only be his voice that activated it. That made sense, even in the Red Room with Madame, Ivan kept a firm hand on Natasha's development. He visited infrequently, but he always looked in on her.

He’d been at her graduation, he’d spoken to her in the chair after three days of leaving her there to suffer in silence. He’d just said…no, he’d hummed something. He’d said a couple of things but the words that stood out were _Free yourself._

Fuck. She was keyed, they just needed to actually pull the trigger. It didn't work the same way with Ivan because he loaded the gun and fired it. He didn't wait around. Did they know that? Were they going to set her on Clint? Or Tony? What about James or Steve? None of them would want to fight her, but she could kill them if they didn’t.

Used.

Again.

A tool.

Again.

A weapon.

Again.

When she’d fought her way free from the chair, and killed two of the five, she’d been in glorious form despite her aches, pains, and still healing bruises and wounds. She would have ripped off a limb to accomplish the task. Until Ivan called stop, she would never have stopped until she was free from the chair, the building, the Red Room itself…

Bastard had known it, triggered her survival instincts and tied them together. The musical notes had to be the big part of it. Rage curdled in her belly. She wished she could kill Ivan or Madame or any of them all over again. They turned her into this…

“…you stupid Americans think we will tell you everything. You flaunt your money and act like you are doing us favors, but we will deal with all of you the same way. You are here because you failed. You are here so she does not fail again. Be happy with what life we leave you, it is better than what you will find at the end—except you dog. You will learn to heel again properly.”

Still James issued no challenge, it was Steve who hit the bars of his cell. She knew it was him. They were threatening his Bucky, and he had hated her plan from the get go. It had to be killing them to see her just sitting there like a damn bump on a log.

Her respiration was growing erratic; she couldn’t suck in a deep enough breath of air. Was that because she wasn’t controlling it?

The Red Room—where every thought she had only existed if they allowed it and the air she inhaled a measure of their tolerance.

Ivan—obedience and cooperation were the only two things he ever asked of her. _Always little Natachenka, always obey. When you cooperate and succeed it makes me so happy._ His happiness had been more important than her own.

Madame B— _You are made of marble._ She would never allow her to fail, even on purpose. She could not failure. Failure was unacceptable.

She couldn’t fail them now.

Footsteps returning, and she couldn’t focus on the words around her. The rage she’d cooled earlier flared. The ropes cut into her arms even through her tact suit. She could feel them around her legs, but she could flatten her feet and if she relaxed her calf. Maybe she could get some wiggle room. All she needed was to slam the chair into something. It was wooden.

Wooden chairs broke.

The Widow did not.

She would _not_ break.

Yes. She was marble.

Yes. She would succeed.

Damn them all to hell, the Red Room did not control her anymore.

She blinked.

Her vision sharpened, bit by bit. The room around her a rough circle, the cells on the far side populated by the guys. Clint made a gesture with his hand then, a _C_.

She curled two fingers over her thumb, the slightest of moves. _N._

He smiled. He looked good. Bruised, and battered—his right eye was swollen shut and he held his shoulder a little off. But he was alive and he looked great.

Leonid walked in front of her. “Smith! Are you ready yet? I have waited long time for this.” She didn’t blink, just kept staring. Hopefully she’d been open-eyed and vacant before or this deception wouldn’t last long.

“Sounds like you could use a management upgrade. I hear good help is hard to find and you seem to be short staffed.” Tony commented. He had a fresh cut on his face, and there was blood by his mouth. “We’ve been here what, two hours? And we still haven’t gotten the mad villain speech. What kind of prison service are you running here?”

Two hours?

Deal with lost time later Natasha.

“Shut up, or I will shut you up,” Leonid said over his shoulder.

Tony actually giggled that little hysterical chuckle he used when his nerves frayed at a situation. He was on edge, and probably very close to calling the whole thing off.

Smith came into the room, and he glared at everyone. Where the hell had he been? Despite the urge to track him with her gaze, she kept staring straight forward and kept her expression empty of every thought.

“I thought you needed to replicate the graduation ceremony.” His comment snared the attention of his audience, including her. See, she wanted to say, this was why she let them catch her. The morons always gave everything away.

“I said I _wanted_ to,” Leonid corrected him. “This time the dog cannot interrupt.” As he turned, he caught Natasha’s face with a backhand. It snapped lip hard against her teeth, and blood flooded her mouth. Her left eye watered, and the crack in her cheekbone had been audible.

Man had huge damn hands.

“It takes a real big man to hit someone who can't hit back.” Steve's temper was lit.

“Do you know she would have failed if he had not interrupted?” Leonid was posturing now. Ivan had called a halt. She hadn’t surrendered. She wouldn’t have failed.“We don't need to play the games, you have her leashed, we will use the chair and then the widow will return to where she belongs.”

Steve’s shield was to her right. She could just see it from the corner of her eye. The man himself was almost directly across from her, and his stare was fixed on whatever was going on behind her. Bruised, but no more than expected. Tony’s armor was “missing,” and if they’d knocked his stealth suit down with the EMP as planned, they’d probably stored it elsewhere.

Fortunately, he still had his watch. And he wasn’t looking past her, but rather at Leonid and Smith. So Alexei was behind her doing what?

James stood a foot back from the bars in his cell. His hands were loose at his sides, and his expression nearly as vacant as her own. If he had any injuries, she couldn't see them. As if aware of her observation, his gaze locked on hers.

Three fingers on his right hand. So just these three present. Granted, at least two were tacit super soldiers, and the third one had a magic flute to pied piper her with—she would throat punch him first. He tapped his thumb and pinky together. Once. Then twice. For now. There were just the three for now, but that could change at any time and they needed to make a decision soon.

Two fingers on James’ left hand. Two minutes? Yeah. She was good with that. Unable to blink a response, she twitched her pinky finger. Hopefully it was enough. The game really wasn't that fun anyway. Smith moved into her line of sight, blocking him. He leaned down to wave his hand in her face.

“Don't worry, this is almost over,” Smith told her, his lips perilously close to her ear, as if sharing a confidence.

He was  _not_ her friend. 

It took every ounce of her self-control to not just head butt the son of a bitch.

Leonid moved away abruptly, swearing in Russian about Alexei’s parentage and something about goats—or maybe it was pigs. She didn’t catch the last two words. Smith knelt in front of her, humming under his breath.

Son of a…

Smith produced a pocket knife from somewhere and Clint was up off the cot now, watching him. This was not in the plan.

Time to adjust.

Again.

“Sorry about this, Widow. But you’re about to make me a lot of money.” Was she now? “Thank you for your cooperation.” He sounded like Ivan again. Then he hummed those three stupid bars. It didn’t matter that her brain knew it wasn’t Ivan, she reacted. Everything went staticky again.

He cut through the rope on her right leg. Then her left.

_Dammit._

Nearly impotent rage burned in her veins. Anger served nothing. Anger made her weak. Anger blinded to what was around her. Her calm faltered, and the mantra stuttered when he continued speaking.

“If you would be so kind, Widow,” Smith said, then his voice dropped into Ivan’s tone again. Fuck, he was going to set her to kill one of her friends. No, dammit. No. She had to break the stupid box again. “Kill Leonid and Alexei for me.”

Oh.

Them.

Well okay.


	43. It’s a good way not to die though

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past never dies...or can it? Or the one where, Nat's been triggered, the guys are in cells, and this was their plan, mostly.

Chapter Forty-Three

_It’s a good way not to die though_

Natasha

 

Ivan’s instruction was very specific. He wanted her to kill Alexei and Leonid. The caveat if she was so kind didn’t apply. Her hands were still fastened to the chair, and the man in front of her held a knife.

This wasn’t her first time in this situation. How many times had she been secured to chairs? To beds? To rusty metal pipes on walls? Hung from a ceiling? Torture and interrogation were not new. They didn’t worry her. She’d had all of her fingernails removed. She’d been beaten with a bag full of soap bars. She’d been flogged.

And those were just the ones who went easy.

So far, no one had asked her any questions. They hadn’t beaten her. A mental inventory of her injuries revealed them to be mostly superficial. Bruises. A few cuts. Nothing life threatening.

Now Ivan wanted her to kill Alexei and Leonid. Very specific. He didn’t usually choose to be so clear-cut.

“Remember what I said,” Ivan’s voice ordered her but it was the man Smith who glared and his lips that moved.

Remember.

Remember.

_“Sit Natachenka,” Ivan told her as he patted the piano bench next to him. She didn’t want to sit. Her arms and legs hurt. It had been a difficult day. She was still smaller than the others, and seemed to need twice as many steps to keep up with them. But she was a better dancer. Aware Ivan wouldn’t give her a second warning before he dragged her where he wanted her, she clambered onto the bench next to him._

_When all he did was play the piano, she gradually relaxed. He wasn’t asking her questions or giving her a lecture he would want her to repeat back to him. Those were the hardest. He used so many big words. Madame said her vocabulary was not up to it. But she proved Madame wrong. Ivan said so. Madame didn’t like being proved wrong. So when she pleased Ivan, Madame made her do extra work._

_The piano was nice though. She liked the music. It relaxed her._

_“This is better, yes?” Ivan asked her, his baritone smooth and inviting. “You like the music?”_

_“Yes, sir,” she nodded. The music was so soothing. She almost wanted to go to sleep, but she watched his fingers move and sat very still. She tried to memorize the keys he hit and how he hit them._

_He might ask her about it later._

_“Good, when you are troubled or you find yourself facing a difficult task, I want you to remember this melody. Can you do that for me?”_

_“Yes, sir,” she said agreeably. The melody reminded her of the box in Madame’s office. The one with the little dancer inside. She’d peeked once. She wasn’t supposed to touch, but she’d opened it. It played music too. “It’s very pretty,” she confessed to Ivan._

_“Yes, Natachenka. It’s very pretty. Just like you are. Do you know why I wanted you to come and sit?”_

_“So I would learn the notes?” His fingers were longer than hers, and his hands bigger. She did not think she could make the piano play as beautifully._

_Yet._

_If he told her to learn, she would have to._

_“Because Madame told me you got very angry today.”_

_Shame flushed through her. She had thrown rocks at Polina after the older girl tripped her on the run. The fall had skinned her knees and dug pebbles into her palms. It wasn’t the first time Polina had been cruel. They were supposed to listen to the older girls when they ran, but the older girls always wanted them to go faster. It made her so mad._

_She’d hit Polina with the rock, she’d closed her fingers around it and she’d thrown it with surprising accuracy. The rock had struck Polina right above her eye. The older girl had fallen. The anger still surging in her gut, she’d glared at Polina and thought about hitting her again. But she’d done what she had to make her stop. She didn’t care if she got up again._

_That’s what she told herself. Polina hit and scratched her all the time. There were scratches on the back of her neck from where Polina had grabbed her when she thought Natalia wasn’t listening. So she pushed herself to her feet with her bruised hands and ignored her bleeding knees and ran to catch up with the other girls._

_“Yes, sir.” She offered no explanation. Madame never wanted to hear an_ excuse _or a reason unless she asked for it._

_“Ah, my Natalia. So fierce. You are stronger than you know little one. Stronger than you realize, but you must not let anger make you weak. Anger serves no purpose. It makes you weak and blinds you to what is going on around you.”_

_But it let her hit Polina with a rock. Polina who was twice her size and so much meaner._

_Ivan chuckled, and he continued to play never missing a single note. The restiveness invaded her limbs and made her lethargic. “I know you do not understand yet little one, but someday you will. You do not have to understand, you just have to obey. Always little Natachenka, always obey. When you cooperate and succeed it makes me so happy.”_

_She liked to make Ivan happy._

_“Yes, sir.” She agreed._

_Ivan smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation.”_

Remember.

_A hum in her ear, the soft bars and the lassitude spread over her as he murmured, “Thank you for your cooperation, Natalia.” Always. Always she would obey. It made Ivan happy when she cooperated and succeeded. “Free yourself.”_

Remember.

_“I did not authorize this Karpov. You overstep yourself.”_

_“I do not recall asking you for permission. She is the perfect candidate for the asset program. I told you that when you invited us to see her success at the graduation.”_

_“Just because she soothes that monstrosity you call Soldier does not mean I will allow you to use her.”_

_“You have no choice.”_

_“Don’t I?” Ivan hummed, and she pushed passed the layers of disconnect. Ivan needed her to obey. “Well then, thank you for your cooperation.”_

_Primed._

_“Come with me Natachenka. Do not allow this man to put you the chair again.”_

_She snapped her head to the side and stared at Karpov. That man. Then her gaze flicked to the chair. She had been in the chair. Pain. White lightning. Everything submerging._

_“You are making a mistake, Petrovitch. You have your funding because of me.” Karpov’s face mottled. “You have your precious room because I_ allow _it.”_

 _“You overstep yourself. That mindless beast you must strap down and shock into submission is nothing more than a brick compared to the fine craftsmanship of Natalia. You submit her to that, you risk_ everything _.”_

_“You forget,” Karpov stood and rapped his knuckles against the desk. The Soldier appeared in the doorway behind Ivan. Natalia had risen from where she’d been left to languish. The lab itself was over bright, but she’d adjusted her vision. There was still a strange lassitude in her muscles. “Soldier, remove Comrade Petrovitch. Don’t kill him…but I don’t object to some harm.”_

_The Soldier stalked toward Ivan, who snapped his face toward her. “Natalia, defend me.”_

_Tension coiled through her muscles as she slid into position to block the Soldier. Please don’t make her do this. Please don’t make her have to fight him for real. His blue eyes widened a fraction. He had his orders._

_She had hers._

_“You would risk her against him?” Karpov’s smirk echoed in his words._

_The Soldier had three weak points on the metal arm. One right at the join to his body, the skin twisted and mottled. Two fingers, sharply jabbed, could cause a muscle spasm that would interfere with the arm’s functionality._

_The second lay at where the elbow joint, it could be ratcheted out of place with the proper application of force. It had to be pure blunt force with torque—more than she could acquire in the limited space._

_The last was his wrist, if she had a knife to work between the rills, she could disable his hand._

_She’d done it during training once and instead of being furious at the disability, he’d smiled at her._

_A real smile._

_He’d been proud._

_The Soldier didn’t stop, and neither could she._

_Defend Ivan. She had to defend him. She had to._

_But she didn’t want to fight the Soldier. Not for real._

_It didn’t matter what she wanted._

_The fight didn’t last long. The Soldier never once tried to harm her. Only remove her. But she bounced back, again and again, blocking him and tangling her arms and legs with his. Anything to slow him down and not hurt him._

_“Natalia,” Ivan’s voice intruded as she locked her legs around the Soldier’s shoulder and neck. She’d given him just enough time to push the shoulder up to keep her from locking on his throat. “Stop.”_

_“Stop,” Karpov ordered as well._

_She dropped off his shoulder as the Soldier ceased moving, and he put a hand to her elbow to steady her. She’d wrenched her ankle and her knee in the struggle. They weren’t steady._

_“Now you see?” Karpov asked his tone arch and satisfied._

_Ivan glared at her. “Yes. I do.”_

_What had she done wrong?_

Remember.

_“Do you see them Natachenka?” Ivan stood at the edge of the competition floor, his attention not on their gymnasts who excelled in all categories, but on a group of Americans seated in the stands beyond them. Two of them matched the photos he’d shown her, but the third wasn’t present._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Margaret “Peggy” Carter and her husband Daniel Sousa. Both members of the recently formed SHIELD formerly of the SSR—the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Ivan had given her dossiers to memorize, and photographs. The third man was Howard Stark, but he hadn’t put on an appearance at the competition floor._

_“Good. Remember them.” The instruction was hardly necessary; she’d memorized the files. Still, Ivan asked her for nothing else as the competition proceeded. She spent the afternoon, splitting her attention between the gymnastics feats and the Americans. Once Carter caught her looking, but Natalia merely smiled a quick, polite if shy smile and looked away. Nothing to see, just an accident. Though Carter glanced at her once or twice afterwards, she seemed to take no other notice of it._

_“Thank you for your cooperation, Natalia,” he hummed at the end of the long afternoon, then touched her arm. “Shadow them. Report to me after they return to the states.”_

_She nodded. Understood._

_It was a boring ten days. It seemed Carter and Sousa enjoyed the events, but they were clearly looking for something—or perhaps someone. They spent hours at Russian team events, and many other hours in the lobby of the hotel housing the Russian delegation. Though the athletes were at the Olympic village, only the athletes and their coaches were allowed in._

_Ivan was not at the same hotel, fortunately, Natalia had been so her lingering in the lobby or putting on appearances in the restaurant were hardly questionable. Events like this meant that even if she couldn’t blend in, standing out wasn’t a problem. There were many familiar faces. Carter cut a striking figure with her colorful suits and hats._

_Nothing bland or gray about her._

_It made tailing her terrifically easy, too._

_So for ten days, she followed them, ate good food, and drank hot tea while roaming Helsinki and the Olympic events. Mr. Stark put in an appearance on day four, disheveled and clearly hung over. He spotted Natalia almost immediately, but she knew men like him. All he saw was a pretty face if his gaze even got that high._

_Like Carter and Sousa, he attended events when he wasn’t inebriated. There was a new girl on his arm each evening. Sometimes the three and his random plus one would go dancing. Sometimes to a quiet supper. More often than not, Stark peeled away from Carter and Sousa._

_Occasionally, such as the night she sat ostensibly reading a book at a sidewalk café across from the open-air restaurant where they dined she wondered if she should have been shadowing him rather than Carter._

_But Ivan had specifically focused on her and Sousa, so that was where she stayed._

_Movement in her periphery had her reaching for her tea cup as a reason to glance up and she found the man in question approaching her with a broad smile. Training had her smiling in return, but only slightly. A pleasant, oh our gazes met, polite smile then returned her attention to her book as she sipped her tea._

_“Is this seat taken?” Stark hadn’t been deterred._

_“No,” she told him, thickening her accent out of habit. They were in Finland after all, and she could sound Finnish and spoke the language with enough familiarity to pass._

_“Wonderful,” he said with a flourish, and pulled the chair out. “Please tell me you speak English.”_

_Had she not just responded to a question in English? Men like Stark preferred to have their egos catered to, and to be admired and playful. He seemed reasonably intelligent but that did not seem to be what he looked for in his companions._

_And apparently tonight, he’d decided she would be the companion._

_Interesting._

_“Some,” she told him, giving him a slightly brighter smile, then closing her book and setting it in her lap as though shy._

_“Wonderful,” he said with a wide smile and extended his hand to her. “Howard Stark.”_

_“Natalie,” she answered, and then shook his hand._

_“Just Natalie?”_

_She smiled, and gave him a politely chiding look. He was a stranger, approaching her at a café. He should be quite satisfied she’d even spoken to his brash American self._

_“Just Natalie it is,” he agreed, holding her hand a beat longer than necessary then brushing his lips to the back of it before he released it. “You’re stunning.”_

_Oh. This was just…really? “I not understand…”_

_“Beautiful,” he threw on quickly. “Beautiful.”_

_“Howard,” Peggy Carter’s very clear, British tones carried equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Leave the poor girl to her book. All she’s done is work this week, and now we’re interrupting her quiet time.”_

_That was interesting. They’d noticed her._

_“Come on Pegs, this is Natalie. Natalie, Peggy Carter.” Howard had stood at her arrival, and Natalie nodded to Carter politely._

_“Hello,” Carter smiled. “I’m so sorry about him. He keeps wandering off…like a puppy without his leash.”_

_Stark laughed, and Sousa who had crossed the street to join them just shook his head. But unlike Howard, Sousa kept an eye on the street, the rooftops, windows. His gaze moved watchful and aware._

_She noticed before that he remained in a constant state of vigilance and he kept himself placed quite firmly near Carter’s back. He’d spotted her previously as well, but he didn’t seem to clock her as a threat._

_Sousa had been a soldier. The crutch and the false leg were the result of an injury, but she wouldn’t mistake him for anything else._

_“He fine,” Natalia answered after a beat. “I am reading only.” Deliberately corrupting her English diction took some conscious thought._

_“I was going to invite Natalie to come dancing with us,” Stark added with a flourish before focusing on her. “Would you like to come dancing with us?”_

_Shadows were not supposed to become involved, but since he’d invited her she would do well to accept rather than to follow. For effect, she made a show of hesitating as Carter scolded Stark. Letting her gaze dart back and forth between the pair, she had to bite back a laugh. They were actually funny. But it was Sousa who caught her eye and said, “It’s all right. If you want to come, we won’t let anything happen to you.” Then he gave a slight nod to Stark._

_Ahh. So if Stark got handsy, then Sousa would handle it. It was such a sweet offer, she couldn’t help but smile. Or maybe it was just that she had a soft spot for soldiers. “I like dancing.”_

_And that was how she spent the rest of the night with her three targets, dancing in a club to everything from popular Parisian tunes to swing music lingering on and a new generation of music that involved a lot of strange gyrations. Twice she’d sat out and let Stark dance with Carter while she drank water. Sousa didn’t press her to talk, but his gaze never stopped tracking everyone who came and went. He knew where the exits were and she didn’t doubt he knew where Carter was._

_“Does it hurt?” She asked, and could have kicked herself. There was going beyond the parameters and there was involving herself._

_“The leg?” Sousa responded with a wry smile and a hint of a chuckle. A familiar pain then._

_“No,” Natalie shook her head, and leaned into her role. “Not dancing.” Dancing brought her pleasure and she enjoyed it very much. It was a rare treat to indulge while on assignment, particularly dancing without discipline._

_“Sometimes,” he said, then his smile took on an almost knowing quality. “But not always.”_

_That didn’t seem to be an answer._

_When the music calmed and became more sedate as the evening wound down, Sousa guided Carter out to the floor. Only then did she understand. He didn’t miss dancing when he danced with her._

_There was something almost sweet about it._

_And she definitely did not imagine what it would be like if the Soldier guided her onto the dance floor and held her close as they moved to the slow music._

_Not at all._

_At the end of the evening, she managed to put Stark off neatly and only allowed him to kiss her cheek. The next few days flew by as she found herself swept into their company again and again. She took an almost playful delight in putting off Stark over, and over. The man only seemed interested because she refused him. The smart thing would have been to sleep with him and then let him discard her, which would have allowed her to keep her distance._

_But they knew her face, and had a name. So now she had to continue her watch up close. Thus, she didn’t once allow him to do more than kiss her cheek._

_It had nothing to do with enjoying Peggy’s wit or Daniel’s dry humor or even Howard’s larger than life antics. Nothing at all._

_When the games ended, she bid them farewell and returned to Ivan. He was satisfied with her report that she had overheard nor seen any signs of their closing in on whoever it was they were hunting for._

_In fact, they seemed to have stopped looking all together._

_Then Ivan told her to forget, and she returned to Russia and another assignment with her Soldier._

_Maybe they could go dancing._

Remember.

_“Did you complete the mission?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_It was hot in Paris, but she didn’t remove her jacket as she walked with Ivan along the river. She kept her pace even, matching Ivan’s slower one. He had grown grayer over the years, arthritic, and now walked with a limp._

_“You always do good work, my Natachenka.”_

_The compliment did not require a comment so she did not offer one. Above, she knew the Soldier kept watch. Ivan was not supposed to be in Paris. It wasn’t part of their mission briefing. Yet, he’d appeared as she’d left the hotel after dealing with the target. The Soldier would keep his distance. He knew Ivan as well. But she had to obey Ivan when he told her to walk with him._

_“You are keeping yourself well, then?”_

_An odd question. Granted, she’d not seen Ivan in a few years. Her work with the Soldier and her own assignments had taken her all over the world. Ivan lived in Russia. So why was he here?_

_“Yes, sir.” He didn’t ask for details, so she didn’t offer them._

_With a tired sigh, Ivan hummed a few bars and she smiled. The tune was a familiar balm. It almost instantly bled all the tension out of her shoulders and she could relax and be that little girl just sitting on the piano bench as he played._

_“Thank you for your cooperation, Natalia.” The praise wrapped around her and she halted. Ivan petted her hand. “So much has happened little one. The world changes, and reshapes. Then we change it again.”_

_None of that was a command, but she listened for it obediently._

_“You will not remember this until I tell you to, yes?”_

_That required a response. “Yes, sir.”_

_“Good Natachenka, good.” But he didn’t say anything for a long time, then finally he said. “I know your Soldier watches us, watches over you. I know Karpov tasked you to stay near him because he uses your presence as another control. I also know he continues to tinker, to try and make you more like the Soldier, more malleable. But you are not brittle or moveable, are you Natalia?”_

_“No, sir.” She was marble._

_“Do you endure the conditioning?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Do you remember what happens during it? Or after?”_

_The information tried to slip away even as she thought of it. Karpov’s words, control words, maybe? “He says…he says things. Phrases. Over and over.”_

_“Do you remember the words?”_

_“Not as words, but as feelings.” Which was true._

_“What do you remember?”_

_“After.” She hated the after. If not for the Soldier, she might never have an after._

_“What about after?”_

_“I have no place in the world,” she told him. That was her training. “Conditioning makes me no one in the world, too.”_

_Another sigh, then a mutter imprecation. Perhaps something about Karpov’s lineage. He wasn’t speaking to her, so much as around her. They weren’t walking anymore, instead they were gazing over the river. It was almost as restful as the melody._

_“Soon, maybe not after this assignment, Natalia, but very soon. They will put your Soldier back into the freezer. Then Karpov is going to retask you.”_

_She listened._

_“He will condition you until you are his Soldier.”_

_But she was not the Soldier. She was the Widow._

_“His Winter Widow is what he calls you, and he will use the Soldier to control you as you have controlled him.”_

_Unease slipped through her. She did not control the Soldier, not as much as they believed, and how could they use him if he were in the freezer?_

_She hated that term._

_A part of her wanted to tilt her head up, to look at the rooftops and find her Soldier. But she knew better than to give into it. She also knew he would be there._

_“While you will not remember this warning unless I tell you to, but you will remember your orders—won’t you Natachenka?” He rubbed her back, humming the few bars and she almost echoed the sound but that was not what he wanted from her._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Thank you for your cooperation, little one.” Then he pressed to her side as though hugging her. The affection absolutely alien, but it put his cold lips right to her ear. “If they ever take the Soldier from you, for good. You will run, Natalia. Do you understand me? You will run. Find me if you can, but run. Then I will find you.”_

_The order sank into her bones. Even as her mind tracked the sound of heavy boots striking the pavement nearby, and then the familiar, hoarse voice, “Natalia.”_

_Ivan pressed a kiss to her temple. “Goodbye, little spider,” he murmured. Then walked away without a look to the Soldier though he had to know he was there. She watched him go, much like watching a film. Ivan did not expect to see her again._

_“What did he want?” The Soldier asked as he came to stand right behind her. Natalia leaned back into his chest, trusting he wouldn’t let her fall and his hand dropped to her hip to steady her._

_“I don’t know,” she said. “To see me I guess. It has been a long time.” She could barely remember what he said, only that it was important._

_“We should go.” They had already lost one of their hours._

_“They will move him tomorrow,” she murmured. “That is what the agent said. They will take advantage of the protests.”_

_“Then so will we,” he turned her away from the river, his left arm wrapped securely around her waist and his hand on her hip. They moved like two lovers out for a stroll._

_“It would be nice if it took a while longer,” she mused._

_“Yes,” he agreed, and his cool tones warmed. “But we have tonight.”_

_It was enough. It had to be. Stolen moments and nights. “Yes,” she smiled. “We have tonight.”_

Remember.

The crush of memories, too many to fully process, flickered across her mind’s eye like a film on fast forward if that film were immersive and raked her naked across hot coals.

The command to remember colliding with the kill order.

White hot pain lanced right through her skull.

Remembering hurt.

Kill Alexei and Leonid.

Kill them.

It was easier.

Only half aware of others present, she tracked the sound of Alexei’s and Leonid’s voices behind her. She needed out of the chair, so she leaned forward as if to get Smith’s attention, and he narrowed the gap.

“Dammit, didn’t you hear me?” Smith demanded, his American accent harshening the vowel sounds. The arrogance of some would never cease to amaze her. He didn’t sound like Ivan at all now.

Good.

“Yes,” she told him. “I heard you.” Then she slammed her foot into his knee, the crack echoed through the room and she didn’t give him time to cry out before she head butted him. He sprawled and she was up on both legs with the chair and flipping so it smashed into him and she was out of the restraints.

Metal behind her screamed as she spun. Alexei stood framed in the doorway. Her mind catalogued the shield to her left and she snagged it as Alexei raised a gun.

“No!” Leonid shouted, but she charged Alexei, shield up and in front of her as the bullets impacted. The shield took all the shock, which was to her advantage.

Another explosion rocked behind her followed by a flash of a metal suit, but her targets were ahead. She slammed the shield into Alexei, a grin pulling at her mouth when he let out a cry. His gun went skittering away across the floor. A fist hurtled toward her, filling her periphery, but even as she twisted to intercept, a metal hand blocked the blow.

The sound of bone crunching and the Soldier delivering a swift, and vicious follow up hit allowed her to ignore the threat of Leonid as contained for now. Below her, Alexei hurtled to his feet trying to push between her in the shield. When he drove his fist into her stomach, she released the shield and folded over his arm, locking her grip on his wrist. Tightening her hold, she rolled with it, flipping him over and turning his arm out and away. The pressure had to be excruciating on the still bleeding wound of his shoulder.

Isolating his arm, she rolled slammed her elbow into his throat. At his gag, she was up and on his neck, but he got his shoulder wedged and surged upward with her on him and drove her into a wall. The first slam didn’t dislodge her, but the second made her adjust her grip.

She released long enough to drop and get her balance but before she could re-engage Steve hurled into Alexei, all solid punches. Chaos filled the hall, Leonid grappled with the Soldier, and Steve pounded into Alexei, his fists striking as rapidly as if Alexei were a speed bag and pushing him away with every blow.

A boom echoed above and the ceiling rattled.

“Getting Clint out of here. And we have company,” Iron Man announced, one arm around Clint who leaned heavily against him. Injured. No weight on left leg. Possibly broken. A quick mental catalog told her he needed medical treatment, but he wasn’t in danger of dying. “I’m taking him to the quinjet, and I’ll take a look at the new arrivals. You good?” He was looking at her.

Clint frowned when she didn’t answer immediately. “Tash?”

“I’m good.” Yes. She was fine. But she still had two targets to kill. So she nodded. “Go.”

Then she twisted to avoid Leonid and the Soldier crashing into her. Instead, she slid around the Soldier like she’d been trained, avoiding his heavier blows to slam her fist into the softer areas beneath Leonid’s arm, and then to the back of his knees.

She was slicing hits, crippling pinches, rakes with her nails across his eyes, and pops to his ears to disorient. Rapid delivery. She’d use the bites, but it would shock the Soldier. The knives in her boots were gone as were her guns, so it was just her.

The limited space pushed her toward a corner, and then Alexei and Leonid were working Steve and the Soldier into the same corner. A distant part of her mind recognized the tactic. Limiting their range of movement while leaving them free. The Soldier must have seen it, too because he suddenly wrenched Leonid around with a brutal blow to put his back toward Natasha. She didn’t hesitate; three rapid kidney strikes sent him stumbling.

“Widow,” a voice yanked her out of the moment. Ivan? Even amidst the grunting, the hum drew her unerringly. “Thank you for your cooperation.” Everything locked up. “Now get me the hell out of here.” Another explosion shook the foundation and plaster rained down, bits of debris sprinkling her face.

She swept the room, no longer engaged in the battles Steve and the Soldier were fighting.

Where was Ivan?

The man from earlier—Smith—glared at her. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Oh. He wanted to use Ivan’s voice to trick her. The compulsion remained but he wasn’t Ivan. And Ivan said get _me_ out of here. She hauled off and slugged him. The act broke a finger in her hand, but her target went down. Backing up a step, she debated breaking his neck. Ivan wanted her to get him out of here.

_Ivan’s dead._

The terrible reality of that was a fact. One she’d clung to for decades. The reality he could no longer control or dictate to her. That she would no longer need to please him. Shaking off the dazed feeling ignited by resurfacing memories, she struggled with the compulsion and grimaced when Steve narrowly avoided colliding with her.

Despite his injuries, Alexei was a vicious fighter and she remembered just how deadly he could be. Sparks exploded from one of the ceiling lights, and she weaved around Steve, her fist impacting Alexei’s already wounded shoulder. If she had better leverage, she’d have dug her thumb in until he screamed.

For several seconds, she weaved with Steve, trading blows with Alexei, fighting alongside him as they’d trained. Then she was rolling around the Soldier, cutting Leonid off when he got some distance. Where Steve was a brawler, the Soldier was a hammer, and she cut back and forth between them.

Finally, she slid in between the hits, spinning around Leonid, climbing him until she had the leverage to snap his neck. He jammed his forearm between her thigh and his throat, then twisted to turn her into the Soldier’s hit. The blow glanced off her, but it was enough to loosen her grasp and Leonid tossed her. She landed mid flip, and rolled right to her feet and into Alexei’s sidekick to the chest. Damned if the two of them hadn’t finally learned to work together. All the air whooshed out of her as she slid backwards, halting only when she crashed into the chair.

The chair.

The locks on the legs and arms engaged immediately, but she managed to get her right arm out before it sealed shut. More sparks showered from the ceiling. Crap. The headgear was already dropping and she twisted, ducking her head away from it. The hum of the device vibrated along her and sparks exploded from another part of the machine. Shit, she couldn’t duck far enough.

Then James was there, grappling it and yanking it away. Steve right behind him, and he slammed his shield into the arm attaching the headgear to the machine, ripping it out. Tony was there, gripping the securing mechanisms around her legs. Between the three of them, they ripped apart the machine.

One metal strut impaled Alexei as it flew free, and Natasha surged away as Leonid bolted. She could not let him get away. She lunged after him, her heart hammering and blood pounding in her ears.

“Tasha, drop.” Stark ordered and she tucked down as a repulsor blast passed right over her. It struck Leonid in the back as he crashed through a door she hadn’t seen, but she rolled to her feet and followed. The guys were behind her; she wasn’t alone in the pursuit. She could not let Leonid get away.

She still had to kill him.

Through the door, she slid to a halt.

It was…

It…

Her brain couldn’t wrap around it.

Ahead of her, Leonid shoved to his feet, staggering. Blood speckled his face and flew from his lips. “Now do you see?”

Yeah.

She saw.

There was a gun taped under the table where he leaned. Behind her, Steve slid to a halt with James in lock step.

But it was Tony who said, “What the hell…?”

“It’s the future,” Leonid declared, his gaze fixed on her. “You were supposed to be the future.”

There were tanks. Dozens of them. And inside were…she wouldn’t call them fetuses or even babies—they were…

“Nat…” Steve gripped her shoulder, a light touch, but she didn’t look at him. She was studying the tanks.

“This...is the some accumulation of their work. He kept trying to remake you, build another. Design another. A more perfect you—since you were flawed.” Leonid laughed now, but there was no humor in it. Just a kind of sad sickness. The world had passed him by. “They put us on ice, they put your Soldier on ice, and they let you live and live and live…and you betray them, leave them behind, and don’t stop the Soviets from falling. So you should be responsible for rebuilding our motherland. You…it’s there in you. Locked away. The perfect soldiers.”

“I’m not a soldier,” she told him slowly. She’d never been one no matter how many wars she’d fought.

The imperative to kill him dulled to a whisper, but it didn’t go away. Had this really been what they were doing here? All those years. All those times she was summoned for treatment. Had they been taking from her as well as infusing her.

Her gaze fixed on one tank, the face had almost formed, but it was grotesque and twisted as if it had died in pain. Why the hell would they keep all of these?

“Yeah, we’re done with the crazy talk,” Tony said, his armor clanked as he moved toward a computer station. “This project is closed.”

“You could do it Natalia…” Leonid glared at her. “That’s why we did this. It’s why we brought you here, brought Smith in. Petrovitch sabotaged Karpov’s efforts and Karpov poisoned his.”

Then Leonid laughed again. “You, the golden child everyone wanted…the doll they could dress up and make dance.”

If words could hurt, those might have stung. But all she felt was a strange kind of emptiness.

“We could fix it. Do it the way we were meant to. Be what Ivan imagined for us all those years ago…before Madame made the fatal mistake.”

Madame?

“You were never supposed to be sterilized.” Leonid grinned. “You were to be the mother and all of us the fathers…”

Oh. Hell. No.

“But if not for the motherland,” he said. “Then not at all.”

Did he really think he would reach her? He pulled the knife and in one telegraphed move, flung it. She caught it before it hit her face and then flipped it and threw it back. Hers went into his throat.

“Well all right then. What do we say?” Tony suggested. “Fire sale. Everything goes.”

James put three bullets into Leonid’s head abruptly, then stalked out. Beyond she heard another three shots, then he emptied the magazine.

Probably Alexei and Smith.

“You know,” Tony said, flipping up his faceplate. “He really needs to work on his words.”

The heavy tread of his footsteps alerted her to his return. He had to be consciously making noise, because he moved even more silently than she did. “You said fire sale. I fired.”

It was over.

Leonid was dead.

Alexei was dead.

The compulsion evaporated.

The weight of Steve’s hand on her arm grounded her, but… no she had to know. She pulled away and began to move through the lab.

“Nat…don’t do this.” Steve followed, but he didn’t try to stop her.

“Is Clint safe?”

“On the quinjet,” Tony answered. “Going to need to do more than a patch job, but he wanted me back down here.”

They would need to leave soon.

“And the explosions?” Steve asked.

“Distractions, probably so Dr. Jekyll in there could get out with his Mrs. Hyde.” Tony’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Pretty much just did some cosmetic damage, and rattled the building. Friday and I aren’t picking up any other heat signatures, but the jamming field is still active so we probably shouldn’t linger.”

“I’ll wire the place after we get Natalia out of here,” James offered. There was a kind of satisfaction in his voice. He sounded less Soldier and more Barnes.

That was a good thing.

The whole conversation flowed around her, but she wasn’t really investing in it. Instead she opened up another terminal. The equipment in the lab was like some Frankensteining of the past and the present. She tapped the keyboard to bring up the display. It took her a few moments to bypass the password encryption, but they hadn’t really upgraded their security protocols.

Sloppy.

She glanced at the ruin of Leonid’s face, then back to the computer. None of them had the tech skills at least not when she’d known them. But how long had they been out of ice? And why were they iced in the first place? Why report their deaths but put them in cryo?

Why did everything related to the Red Room have to be a puzzle shrouded by a mystery wrapped inside an enigma?

“That’s probably a plan,” Tony said after a long moment. “Friday’s getting all the data, Red. You don’t have to do it the hard way.”

She skimmed the file structures, looking for their—Genesis program. Interesting choice of phrase considering the lack of religion enforced for decades. They began in the mid-seventies but the most recent was just weeks after the fall of SHIELD. She tabbed into those folders. Blood work.

Samples.

Requests for more.

The last entry detailed the project had been shelved until resources could be reacquired.

Resources.

Pushing away from the computer, she weaved around Steve and avoided James as she strode down the aisle created by the massive tanks. There had to be a hundred, maybe more. They had to have paper files here. Something from before the 1970s.

“Natasha,” Steve’s voice wrapped around her like a hug. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to know,” she told him, wheeling around to face him, then glancing to James and Tony who were right there. “I have to know if this is where they actually made me or not.”

“And if this…this is what they’ve been doing with my DNA all this time.” They took away her ability to have children and then tried to make monsters instead.

God, it was like some warped Greek myth.

“I just have to know.”

“Then we’ll help,” Tony said and the others nodded. “Hey Friday, gimme a status update on Barton and let him know we’re clearing the facility before we head up.”

Guilt stabbed at her. Clint—she should head up there. But at the same time, she had to know this was over and the Smith thing bothered her on top of everything else. For now, she stuck that into the back of her mind. She’d figure it out. First she had to have answers.

One tube contained what looked like the remains of a little girl, and she skidded to a stop in front of it.

The greenish cast of the water gave her an ill pallor, though her eyes were closed and her body floated—definitely a corpse—she was eerily familiar.

It was her face.

Or close to it.

Madame screwed Ivan by having Natasha sterilized. Ivan screwed with Karpov by sabotaging her for his asset program. It was why she’d run…they’d taken the Soldier from her. At some point, maybe it was in Azzano, maybe that was the moment. But she’d broken from the Red Room, from Karpov, from all of it.

But she hadn’t gone to Ivan.

Had she already thought him dead?

Another headache to sort out later.

But Karpov sabotaged Ivan’s work. These tanks seemed older, and even aware of Steve right at her shoulder, she stared up at it. They didn’t hurry her or try to make her move. Put a name on what you fear and it won’t have power over you.

She wasn’t afraid of this truth.

If she dug down deep enough, she’d always considered herself a monster.

All she had here was evidence of it.

Abandoning the corpse, she continued her search.

It took them an hour, but they pulled apart the level, and then split up into teams of two to search the others.

No files.

Nothing.

That mystery it would seem would remain that.

She existed.

That would have to be enough.

Returning to the level with the tanks and the corpses of their would be captors, Nat wired the chair with C-4 while James took care of the tank room. Tony had set explosives on the lower levels. They would add more on their way up.

They were going to implode the whole place.

Though each tried to offer her comfort in some way, she resisted it. She didn’t want to hide in Steve’s arms or lean on the strength the Soldier shared with her or avoid the darkness with Tony’s wry humor. She wasn’t afraid of this place or what it represented. It was on her to face it all, to know it, so it _never_ happened again.

To that end, she checked Smith’s pockets, emptying them in search of any other kind of ID. Then she took his fingerprints, an act that earned her a look of surprise from Steve but a thoughtful nod from Tony. It didn’t matter that they were dead. They’d all come from somewhere, to ignore it would be to leave a dangling thread. Especially since the bastard had been at SHIELD.

Smith had wanted her for something else and said she was going to make him a lot of money. He wasn’t in on this program with Leonid and Alexei. He’d been using them, planning to sabotage their efforts as so many in the past had played games, all around her. Game masters setting the board and maneuvering her around as though she were nothing more than a pawn.

A deep dive on the files might net them more locations, possibilities of another Leonid or Winter Soldier like those in Siberia—Siberia.

Nat went still.

She’d known that silo. Remembered it.

Karpov’s project. There’d been a woman there. She’d only gotten a brief look at her, but she’d been familiar.

Had Karpov used her when Ivan sabotaged his work with her?

No—Karpov had been dead by then. But those who followed in his footsteps…

“Natalia.” James pulled her from the reverie where she still knelt next to Smith. “It’s time to go.”

Rising, she dusted her hands off after securing the wallet and passport she’d taken from Smith. Finally, she looked at them.

Bruises. Bloodied knuckles. Weary faces.

But all three alive.

Clint on the quinjet.

She hadn’t failed.

“Okay,” she said, walking away from it and climbing into the elevator. They rode upward in silence. As the adrenaline faded, the exhaustion returned. But her mind couldn’t stop turning over the information flitting through her brain.

James still smelled like gunpowder and sweat. Steve was unhappy, but he buried it behind a stoic expression. He would deal with his feelings later. Tony had begun to fidget, but he kept half-an-eye on her as though he worried she might either snap or cry.

It almost made her laugh. He was probably far more concerned about the latter than the former.

As the doors opened to the first basement, she walked out of the elevator and ignored the bodies as she stepped over them on her way to the stairs.

“Natalia?”

She collected and holsterd her glocks as she made her way through, and then paused to yank her knife out one guy. It was one of her two favorites. She really didn’t know where the other had gone so she cleaned the blood off and stowed it in her boot for later.

“Yes, James. I know. I’m scary.” So much tired invaded her on that last one. She was scary and he’d trained her.

So what the hell did that make them?

“I was going to stay you did good.” But he sighed at the end. As she climbed the stairs, she caught sight of Steve giving James’ shoulder a squeeze. Good. They needed each other.

Because right now she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have it in her to comfort them or make them feel better.

On the first floor, she walked through the empty foyer and then paused to look up the stairs. A distant memory tickled at her. “One minute,” she told them before climbing them without regard for whether they might follow or not. She didn’t slow until she reached the upper level.

The dormitory.

Along the right wall were four beds. They didn’t keep all of the girls here. Only a few came at a time. But she went unerringly to the spot where she’d slept. Gripping the edge of the bed, she lifted it and flipped the flimsy metal over. Dropping to her knee, she used her fingers to search for it and there…the board had a little give. She pushed it in and then it sprang up.

Stretching her hand into the hole she’d created, she searched carefully then snagged fabric, stiffened with age. Pulling it out, she gazed down at the pair of dresses.

Zhanna and Lucya.

They’d come to Arkangelsk with her. They hadn’t survived. Their dresses had been left on the foots of their beds. She’d woken that first morning after her fever passed to see them. Rather than let them disappear like the girls, she’d hidden them away.

Someone should remember.

She remembered.

Maybe decades too late, she’d give them a burial too. A proper one.

James and Steve stood at the top of the steps staring at her while cradled the dresses.

“Tony went to check on Clint, he figured you’d need a minute and you’d feel better if he was okay,” Steve told her.

“Tatiana is by the road. I need to bury her.”

They nodded, not even a question.

“I promised.”

“Then we will.”

She glanced back at the overturned bed and the floor. “I used to sleep there. When I was here…before…” With a sigh, she turned her back on it. “It used to be bigger.”

James’ lips quirked into a smile. “He used to be smaller. It changes.”

Steve shook his head, but he smiled. “He used to be smarter, but at least he’s still pretty.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Still cradling the dresses she headed down the stairs, one in front of her and one behind. They weren’t letting her take point, but she also didn’t have to worry about guarding her back. Another day, she’d let that bother her.

Outside, they gathered the bike and reloaded it on the quinjet. Then moved to where she’d left Tatiana. Clint watched her, but she held up two fingers asking for patience and he nodded.

It took them less than hour, but Steve and James got a hole dug in the cold earth with help from Tony and they lowered Tatiana into it. Then she tucked the dresses into her arms. They’d look after Tanya and maybe all of them would have peace now.

If not, then at least they wouldn’t have pain anymore.

Finally, they left her buried under the tree where the wildflowers would be in the spring and reboarded the quinjet. Nat stripped off her bites and weapons, loading them all into her locker. She’d clean and sharpen the blade later. Clean it all later. Tony angled them back toward the house and they detonated the charges. The booms were almost silent, but the house began to crumble and collapse, falling inward in a haze of flame and smoke until it was gone.

Then it was done.

Turning away from it, she walked to where Clint was on the cot. His face was a little gray, dirty and bruised, But his eyes were bright—and a little worried. His leg was wrapped, and there was a fresh bandage on his shoulder. He could definitely use a bath, but she was torn between checking each injury for herself or just collapsing and giving him a hug. Clint made the decision for her when he opened his arms and let her crawl right into them. Careful of his injuries, she curled up against him and closed her eyes.

She had her best friend back.

It was over.

Mostly.

Next…next would be the hard part.


	44. She's not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint needs surgery, and Nat's fighting to keep it all together.

Chapter Forty-Four

_She’s not alone_

Natasha

 

Clint passed out by the time they’d gotten him to a doctor. Tony knew people. He knew _a lot_ of people. They were tucked away in an exclusive clinic in St. Moritz. The specialists in orthopedics and traumatology as they called it wheeled Clint into surgery the minute they touched down.

Trusting Tony at his word, they’d all followed with James and Steve drifting back as the doctor came out to talk to her. Tony had told them she was authorized to make medical decisions. While that might have been true back at SHIELD she had no proof at the moment, and no one asked.

“He has what we call a complete fracture which means his femur has broken into two complete segments or in his case three,” the doctor began and pulled up x-rays on a tablet. The white coat, the genial manner, the traces of antiseptic made her head buzz, but she kept her gaze fixed on the screen as the doctor explained the breaks. How they would need to reduce the inflammation and the number of screws, rods and pins.

The room they stood in wasn’t the sterile white of some anonymous laboratory, but colored in soft mint greens and earth tones. It had a quiet almost restive feeling to accompany the sofas, tables, inset fireplace and television. If not for the visible marble tile, and the hospital distinct smells a person might almost believe they were in some living room.

“This procedure is the one most likely to leave him with the greatest flexibility and strength after physical therapy.” Every word riveted into her brain the uphill battle Clint faced. Phrases like at his age, recovery time, and secondary infections beat out a tattoo in her brain. Twelve weeks to twelve months for full recovery.

Twelve months.

Then the doctor switched to images of the gunshot wound. It had been torn open, the ragged skin purpling and mottled—they’d likely hit him there repeatedly. They died far too quickly. She could have made it hurt for a long time…particularly since they healed nearly as well as she did.

“We’re going to have to debride this and flush it. We’ve already begun transfusing him for blood loss,” the doctor’s words floated through, she recognized all the phrases, categorized them. They were medically accurate. But the ones suggesting nerve damage, atrophy of muscles, and fear of gangrene or sepsis drowned her in white noise. At the point she mentioned amputation as a last resort, Nat half-checked out. “…this is all the worst case scenario, but we’re going to do everything we can to avoid those outcomes. Mr. Stark was right in saying we are right on the cutting edge of trauma surgery and recovery. What I need from you is to know how far should we go? What are the most extreme measures you are willing to authorize?”

“Miss?” The doctor reached a hand to her, perhaps to comfort or maybe to try something. It didn’t matter, Nat had her in a wristlock before the hand touched her.

“Natalia,” the warning came from James, and Nat released her abruptly.

“Sorry—just don’t touch me.” Then folded her arms, forcing her fingers to dig into her own biceps. Her face had been gradually swelling since they left Arkangelsk. The bruising would come, but at the moment, she just looked like a puffer fish, reddened and her eyes were swollen. Easy enough to explain. The crack in her cheekbone might be harder to explain, but they’d need x-rays to see it.

Slow. Even. Breaths.

Calming her heart.

She stared at the image.

Nat should not be making this decision. It was her fault he was in this condition. She couldn’t tell them please cut off his arm. He was….he was Hawkeye. He needed his arm.

But he wasn’t a super soldier. He wasn’t just going to bounce back from this without a lot of help.

The doctor fidgeted and rubbed at her wrist. She needed a decision right now, they already had him in surgery. Laura would know what to do.

But Laura wanted a divorce.

Clint would kill her if she called Laura.

No, Laura was never to be told this.

So, what then she had to tell her Clint died?

Fuck.

“Don’t cut off his arm,” she said. “You use every ounce of your expensive talent and you put him back together so he can heal, and do all the physical therapy he needs. Don’t cut off his arm.” Then she eyed the woman. Tony said these were trustworthy people, and they wouldn’t sell them out. But she had this doctor’s name and she would know the name of every single person treating him. If they cut off his arm, they would regret it.

“Of course, as I said, that would be an extreme last resort and I don’t believe it will be necessary,” the doctor hurried on to explain, before she tabbed to a new screen. “If you will just sign here.”

Nat stared at her a beat longer, and she could almost see Tony’s eyes widening from the corner of hers. Finally, she signed the notation after reading the information on it including the address of the hospital. Since it was a private one and Tony had flown them here, she hadn’t known the location.

She did now.

“Of course we will do our best to make you all comfortable,” the doctor said as she held the tablet to her chest as if it would offer her some form of protection. “I can take a look at your face if you…”

“No.” She didn’t need anyone poking or prodding her. “Just take care of him.”

“Thank you Doctor Bekker,” Tony inserted himself smoothly between them and lead her to the door. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your discretion and professionalism.”

Then they were out the door and Nat stood there, staring at the double doors. They were fancier than the standard bi-swing doors, but they still said hospital—just in a snootier tone.

“Hey,” Steve said from somewhere to her left, he was giving her a cautious amount of distance. Probably wise on his part at the moment. It would probably be wise on everyone’s part. “I can get an ice pack for you.”

“It’ll heal on its own.” How long had she said the surgery would be?

“But it won’t heal if you don’t rest,” Steve reminded her. “You need to eat, clean up, and get out of that suit.”

“I’ll be fine until Clint is out of surgery.” If something went wrong, she wouldn’t be caught asleep where someone might want to wait until she woke to give her bad news. No, she wanted to be there when Clint came out of surgery. When he woke up, he needed to know he was safe and that she had his back.

He was unconscious, and alone, and vulnerable with strangers—professional strangers who knew how to take a body apart.

Tony returned. “Jesus Red, try not to terrorize the staff. They are here to help, remember?”

She shrugged. “I just didn’t want her to touch me.” At the moment, she would be good if no one touched her.

“Yeah,” Tony said, eyeing her, then looking at Steve. “We’ve got this room and a couple of bedrooms that way. This is a VIP suite. Dinner will be up in an hour. They’ve got some clothes we can change into. They won’t be much but better than smelling like sweat—or blood, Red. You smell like a copper factory. I’m taking the first shower and that’s my bedroom there on the left, you can use the other one or join me, Red. Your choice.”

“Really, Tony?” Steve said, more tired than annoyed. It was almost funny.

“Don’t hate, you could have offered. You won’t, but you could have.” Tony grinned, absolutely unabashed. “We won, we got them. We got Clint back, and he’s going to be fine. In the meanwhile, water conservation—it’s still a thing.”

“Well, you might be right. But I don’t think she seems interested in taking you up on it.” Not that she needed Steve to answer for her. Some dark, little part of herself whispered, join Tony, prove to Steve he didn’t get to make those decisions. But she ignored it. She would _never_ do that to either of them.

“I’ll be fine. Go shower Tony,” she told him. “Thank you.” Then she paced away, her gaze on the doors. How far away was the surgical suite from this room? The same level? A different one?

She prowled to the windows; the facility was tucked into a lovely area with a view of the lake, and St Moritz itself on the far side. High the Alps, it wasn’t easily accessible by land. There had been a helicopter departing when they arrived.

“Keep an eye on her Cap,” Tony said, his voice low but it still carried.

“Yeah, I planned to.”

She should have been nicer to Tony. She’d apologize later. The windows were double-paned, a thicker form of glass, probably to withstand wind and storms. Bulletproof? Probably not.

The lines of sight bothered her. The isolated location didn’t mean free of potential nests for the dedicated snipers.

A moment later the lateral blinds snapped closed, cutting off her view. Then James passed her and snapped closed the other blinds until all the windows were closed. Some of the tension knotting her shoulders eased.

“Go shower, Natalia. I’ll do a sweep of the facility. Steve will stand guard in here. We’ll trade after.” He didn’t wait for her response, he just went.

“Well,” Steve said after a moment. “I guess I’ll be standing guard, here.”

“You can shower, Steve,” she assured him. “I really don’t want to be somewhere they can’t get me…”

“I’ll walk in there myself carrying the doctor if I have to,” Steve said, his face a mask of perfect seriousness. “No one will keep anything from you.”

“I can’t lose him Steve,” she said, giving voice to the one thing she refused to fear. Someday she would lose him. Someday she would have to say goodbye. But not right now.

Not this way.

“You won’t,” he told her, and he believed every word. It made her want to believe it. “He’s going to need you and he needs you in one piece. Buck’s not wrong, you’re covered in blood, your face has definitely looked better, and you kind of smell.” The tips of his ears went a little red, but he deadpanned the delivery perfectly. Not even a twitch of a smile.

“You’re really going to manhandle some doctor into the shower to explain things to me?” A part of her wished he’d just leave her alone. Let her brood, she had too much in her head. It was full to the brim. New memories. New feelings. Old feelings. Old memories. But another part of her adored him for pressing, and not backing down.

“If I have to. I’ll drag the whole medical team in there. Of course, if you move it and shower. I won’t have to. Trust me… yeah?”

One last glance at the doors, then she sighed. “Fine. I’ll be fast.”

“Good,” he gave her a gentle smile, but he didn’t reach out to touch her and she was even more grateful for that. She didn’t think she could take that right now. Pivoting she strode to the second bedroom and let herself in. Like the main room, it had a soft pale color palate—all earth tones and soothing. The bathroom was done in deep blue, with sand colored tiles. A beach like setting in the Alps. There was some irony there.

She stripped out of the tact suit, wincing where it caught on scrapes and bruises. Her forearms were a riotous mess of black and blue. Her face had started to purple at the edges. A boot print centered square against her sternum. Her hips and legs were equally marred. One good thing about the suit, unless they actively slammed weapons into her or shot her, she was usually just bruised after a hard fight. Twisting, she took a look at her back. It was mottling and swollen along her shoulder blades.

The chair flip had probably left its share of marks.

With a shrug, she turned on the water in the shower to cold. It wasn’t an ice bath, but it would have to do. Stepping under the frigid spray, she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as she endured the icy temperature.

Her skin numbed as she turn slowly, making sure she hit every part of her. Her nipples went so tight they were actually painful. Or maybe it was the bruising.

Finally, she turned her face up and bit back a gasp as the water stabbed at her bruised cheeks like so many little needles. She held the position until she couldn’t feel it anymore. Then she turned the dial and the water warmed almost immediately. Glancing down, she stared at the water sluicing off her discoloring the water to reddish brown.

With the provided soap she scrubbed her hair to get the dust, debris, blood, and probably other things she didn’t want to think about out of the strands. The products were expensive. Some part of her mind cataloged every part of the place. Leaving the conditioner in her hair, she scrubbed her skin with the soap. There was blood around her nail beds and she focused on getting the red off them.

It would never fully leave her, but she cleared as much as she could. One last rinse under the warm water, and she started to shudder. Hands braced against the tile, she rode out the tremors. It wasn’t as pronounced as if she’d had an ice bath, but it would do.

By the time she shut off the water, she was mostly stable. She dried off, and toweled her hair but left it damp, then finger combed it. There were other products, and she knew she should apply the cosmetics—cover up any sign of the damage, but she just didn’t give a damn.

Leaving the towels on the floor, she picked up the tact suit, her bra, and panties and carried them into the bedroom. As Tony suggested, there were some expensive things in the closet, most of them were super soft and gray. So much gray, and linen white—she supposed they were soothing colors.

There were drawers offering packaged under garments in a wide variety of sizes. The fact they were in sealed packages assured they were not using anyone’s “borrowed” underthings. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and she’d rather not put hers back on.

The plain white panties with little lace corners were comfortable enough, and she found another drawer with bras, these were more for function than looks and she appreciated that. Finding her size, she slipped it on, then dressed in a pair of gray loose pants, and then a matching tank top. The hospital staff would likely have a coronary at the bruises littering her arms, so she pulled out a sweater knitted out of some sinfully soft material.

It was almost two sizes too big and dwarfed her. She loved it. Tugging it on, she wrapped it around herself like a hug and just stood there, eyes closed as she worked her toes into the carpet and hugged herself with the sweater.

A light knock warned her before the door opened, and she turned. Was there news? It must have reflected on her face, because James shook his head gently. “It’s just me. I did a sweep. It’s clean. Two main access points, both on electronic locks that require a passcode and keycard. Could be better. Also the helipad is the main entry point, but they do have a road with a guardhouse. Video surveillance. We’re not on any of them.”

He held up a phone with the display subdivided into mini camera angles. She wasn’t going to ask where he got the phone, but she would very much like to know when he learned to hack security systems.

“Friday helped. You can see every entry point. The facility is based off contemporary architecture, which apparently means ugly, hard lines, and white. There are three egress points on this level, out the doors for the suite, and thirty-five feet to the left is a stairwell. No locks inside or out. It’s three flights up to the roof. Three tiered roof, get to the lowest tier and it’s a thirty foot drop, but they have balconies and ledges every twelve feet.”

The other two exits included elevator shafts with shutdowns inside, breach the doors, slip inside, pull switches to shut off the elevators—fast climb down or slide on the cables. The last exit included the windows themselves. They would need firepower to crack them, but he, Steve or Tony could do it, so it made them viable for quick exits.

“Friday is monitoring the facility and Clint’s surgery. We’re as secure here as we’re going to get. Does that help?”

He’d laid it out, their security, their defensible positions, and their escape routes. Clint’s surgery suite was on the same floor—a VIP one—which also meant limited access outside of the approved medical and hospitality staff.

“Yes James,” she said slowly, meeting his gaze. It really did help. “Thank you.”

“Stark’s finished his shower, and Steve’s gone in to take his. Food will be here in twenty. When you’re ready. I’ll take mine.”

That was even more telling.

He trusted her to keep watch for he and Steve. Yes, he’d done a security sweep. Yes they were looking after her. But he expected her to do the same.

“I can now,” she told him. She sacked her underthings and tact suit into one of the linen bags they provided and sealed it. “There’s all kinds of stuff in here, and they have clean underwear.”

“Well,” he said. “That’s something.” Her Soldier had never been one for many words either that weren’t mission related. He hadn’t needed them. They hadn’t needed them. Melancholy swarmed her. He’d meant everything and she’d just…forgotten him. They’d dug him out, and left a crater behind, the water filling it so dark she couldn’t have ever imagined what had been there before.

Taking the linen bag, she headed for the doorway and James stepped aside to let her out, pressing the phone into her hand, then holding out a blade in one hand, and revealing a gun in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Her choice apparently. She eyed both then him, before taking the blade. “Thank you.”

He nodded as she slipped the knife under the cuff of her sweater to rest against her forearm. It would be better if she had a sheath for it, but she could make it work.

In the main room of the suite, she found Tony seated on the hearth by the fire with a StarkPad balanced on his knees. Like her, he was dressed in the ubiquitous gray and white. “There’s coffee already,” he said, pointing to an urn on the coffee table. “And tea. I had them boil the water. The tea selection might not be up to snuff…but I figured you could use it and there’s jam, lemon, honey, sugar, and milk.”

“Covering all the bases?”

He shrugged. “I like to be thorough.” After thumbing off the StarkPad, he set it down next to him. She made her way over to the chair facing the doors, it would put her back to the bedrooms—but she knew who was there and that was acceptable. She took the time to brew the tea, then used a spoonful of jam before curling back into the seat and setting the blade where she could reach it and the phone on the arm where she could see it.

The coffee pot and electric kettle were perfectly fine weapons; with the addition of having hot liquids to impede any would be attackers. There were a half-a-dozen other items throughout the room she could also use.

Unless they sent a full division in, she could keep them secure. Tony still had his watch and the dark gray t-shirt didn’t disguise the ARC reactor he’d put into position. He wasn’t relying on the stealth suit here, which meant he had all of his toys.

Another knot in her spine eased.

The act of cradling the tea cup, letting the heat seep into her bruised fingers and sipping the blend of licorice root, orange, ginger, and anise with just the right amount of spice. If only tea could sooth her savaged soul as easily as it warmed her battered body.

The silence was companionable. Tony sipped his coffee, and she drank her tea. Neither of them said anything. If not for the faint antiseptic scent, and the lack of real personality on the room, they could be anywhere in the world right now—maybe even back at the Tower in New York. Was it weird to be faintly nostalgic for long evenings of restless insomnia?

Steve emerged as the food arrived with James a half step behind him. Tony took care of wheeling the food in, and not letting whomever delivered it come inside. Though all the food was under warming lids, the scents were unmistakable.

“Is that…?” Steve took charge of the table and pulled it into place, then lifted a lid.

Tony grinned. “New York hot dogs, pretzels, French fries, spiced nuts, burgers, and shawarma.”

With a laugh, Steve glanced at James who ‘d crossed the room to stare at the variety of foods. “You didn’t have to go all out, Tony.”

“Okay the day street vendor food is going all out, I’ll eat my hat,” Tony snorted, ignoring the fact he’d likely had all of this flown in straight from the source or at least as close to the source as he could without setting off any alarm bells. “The last dish there is for Red.”

James plucked the lid off that one, and the scent of fish and chips coiled out to wrap around her like some enticing cartoon vapor. Her stomach twisted, the first inklings of hunger waking. James lifted the plate, snagged a bottle of malt vinegar, and carried it over—the food was still wrapped in newspaper, or at least faux newspaper.

Steve was a step behind him with silverware, and a napkin. Mustering up a smile, she said, “Thank you.” It took her a moment to arrange the food, but they left her to it. Well Steve did anyway. Tony had plated himself some shawarma and tucked into it like it was a long lost favorite dish. Steve had three hot dogs lined up and seemed to be torn between the burgers and the fries. Finally he added a burger and a handful of fries.

“What do you want Buck?”

James glanced at the food, then at Steve and shook his head. “I’m fine for now.”

No he wasn’t… He wouldn’t eat it without being certain of the origin. Plucking one of the French fries off the plate, she ate one, then offered a second one to James. He accepted it, and then another.

With a thoughtful look, Steve studied them as she fed James from her plate and then he added a few more items to a second plate and carried it over. “Hot dog?” He offered one to her, he hadn’t added anything to it—just the bun and meat.

She nibbled the smallest bite from the end, then passed it to James. Steve pursed his lips, and then understanding kindled in his eyes. He settled on the floor next to her chair, food spread out on the coffee table. They alternated between her feeding James the fries, and Steve offering her a pretzel or a burger or a hot dog, she’d take a bite, then give it to James.

Even the small bites she was eating began to ease the cramp in her stomach. The scent of the fish made her mouth water, but she delayed cutting into her food to make sure James got enough. He and Steve had such high metabolisms.

It went on this way for a few minutes, and when they’d demolished about half the food Steve had loaded onto the two plates, he took a bite from another hot dog then handed it to James directly.

Nat gave it a beat, and didn’t stare but when James took the food amiably, she wasn’t the only one letting out a breath. Steve angled his head back to look at her, then at her plate, then at her again.

Apparently it was time to feed herself.

Captain’s orders.

A loose snort worked its way free, and she added some vinegar to the fish and tucked into it with a knife. The first two bites she had to force herself to chew, even if the flavor was perfect and the fish flaky while the malt vinegar taste and scent almost chased away the antiseptic. By the third bite, however, her stomach lodged its protest against being made to wait any longer.

She almost missed the look passing between Steve and Tony. While she’d normally credit Tony with an excellent poker face, he made zero attempt to hide his satisfaction. James caught her gaze, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he nodded slightly toward the other two.

No, she wasn’t alone in noticing. The boys were very proud of themselves. She held no illusions about what—between them they’d gotten her to eat and James had been in on it, even if he really was wary of eating anything not prepared under his watchful gaze.

So Steve took over testing the food for James while he ate, she ate her fish, Tony finished a whole plate of shawarma and then refilled his coffee.

“You were right, Nat,” Tony murmured into the quiet as they cleared their plates.

“About?” It was almost like rousing from a bad dream, that feeling of oh—it was just a dream before reality crashed in that was far worse than the nightmare. Food, a shower, and companionship—they were together but Clint was still in surgery, and she was still waiting to find out if they would be successful.

“Letting them catch you is hard, especially if they are painfully stupid at their jobs.” The wry remark earned a snort from James.

“Steve and I wiped through a third of their forces without meaning to.” Disgust curled his tone. “They weren’t trained, just mercenaries for hire.”

“They were enthusiastic,” Steve added. “And if they’d actually managed the shock and awe over the coming at us in a line, it might have been more effective.”

“I don’t know, they waited to use the EMP until after they lost their heavy artillery.” Smugness suited Tony. “Friday and I kept waiting, and obviously I couldn’t just let them shell me.”

“Obviously,” James agreed. “If they were looking for a fight…”

“…then we had to give them one,” Steve mused. “I really thought they would be more ready for us, they obviously expected we were coming. They had sonic weapons, and flash bangs.”

Super soldiers had super senses. Overwhelm them, and it increased your chances of taking them down. A fact Nat had put together a long time before. She knew Steve’s fighting style, knew exactly how stubborn he was—there were only two ways to truly topple him, singularly overwhelming force to wear him down, stun his senses, and hit him with the force he hit back or gain his trust and slip a knife between his ribs.

“They had _lousy_ aim,” James sounded almost insulted.

“They had targeting systems they didn’t even use,” Tony added, almost aggrieved. “Four times they fired their little EMPs, they couldn’t even get it in the ballpark. I had to land, and approach them.”

Steve chuckled, then shook his head. “Bucky kept throttling them, without his weapons, and he looked bored.”

James shrugged. “I wasn’t fond of the plan, and I wasn’t going to make it any easier than not just shooting them.”

And around and around it went, they listed the most ridiculous qualities of the men they fought, made light of the traps, and traded barbs about the relative intelligence of the plan. Nat set her plate aside and curled up against the arm of the chair. At some point, Steve had begun to rub the bottom of her foot. It was just a light caress, his thumb gliding over the instep. The careful touch not enough to unlock the tension, but more a physical reminder they were there.

The slow realization he’d begun the massage eased past the defenses she didn’t want triggered by touch. When she curled her toes, he stilled the movement, but didn’t let go of her foot. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, so she let him.

Eventually, even their attempts at banter drifted and they sat, all waiting on the doctors to come through the door. Tony resumed work on his StarkPad. Despite the bruises under his eyes, and the weariness in his expression, he seemed very intent.

Habit had her glance at the screen, but the distance and angle made it difficult to read. The hours bled together, and she stared at the door, every molecule in her being wanting to be out there, fighting the fight with Clint, but she couldn’t do anything but wait.

_He stomped into her quarters and snapped open the blinds. The flood of sunlight into the dark space near-blinded her. It was her third month with SHIELD and they’d upgraded her from the dungeon to a tower cell. Clint hadn’t been amused by the comparison._

_“Up and at ‘em,” he told her, yanking the blanket away. “I was gone for a week, and you haven’t left your room.”_

_She glared at him, refusing to uncurl from the pillow. “I’m fine.”_

_“You are not fine. You have to stick to the routine, kid. That was the deal.” He grabbed workout clothes out of the drawer and tossed them at her. “You haven’t showered, you’ve barely had food, and you scared off your detail to take you to the gym. So now, get up, get dressed, and let’s go.”_

_“No,” she told him and pressed her face to the pillow. What was the damn point of all of this? He’d told her life would be better here, and they would give her an opportunity to prove it not only to them but to herself._

_Debriefings she understood._

_Talking to their psychologists she understood—even if she could feed them exactly what they wanted to hear._

_Tactical assessments and training, they were all fine._

_Then Clint took an assignment and she was supposed to do all these things with other people. He was out there, and she was here. Missions went wrong all the time, but he’d left her locked away. No choice. No option._

_“C’mon Tasha, I’m starving and you need a workout.” He tugged at the pillow, all playful energy like one of the puppies her psychologist insisted on using for therapy one week. An hour a day with puppies swarming over her, he’d said it would make her more approachable and give her a different perspective._

_She liked the dogs._

_She still hated the doctor._

_A different perspective than his for sure._

_But the yank of the pillow rattled the handcuffs and he went still._

_“Tash.”_

_Defiance flooded her and she glared at him. He didn’t get to judge. He_ left _._

_“Where did you get those?”_

_She just stared at him._

_With a sigh, he reached toward her wrist and she swung her legs, locking them around his chest, and yanking him off his feet. Even with her wrist secured, she got him in a lock._

_“Okay,” he said slowly. “We’ll do it your way.”_

_He slammed his elbow into her gut and the air whooshed out of her. The fight lasted for three minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Her lip was cut and his nose was bleeding. They’d both end up with black eyes, and she’d dug grooves into her wrist from the handcuffs, and he was walking a little funny—in her defense, he blocked her knee the wrong way. The battle ended when the cell door slammed open, two heavily armed STRIKE members and Phil Coulson standing there._

_“Woah,” Clint said, hands up and moving to stand right in front of her. “Nobody tagged you in.”_

_“Barton,” Coulson spoke in his even, dry tone. “Is there a problem?”_

_“No,” Clint answered, the picture of innocence. “Why? Did you hear there was a problem?” He glanced back at her, but never moved to give the STRIKE team a clear shot. “Did you hear there was a problem Natasha?” Without waiting for her to answer, he looked back to the door. “No problems here—sir.”_

_The corner of Coulson’s mouth twitched, and he shook his head. “Stand down.” After the two STRIKE team members withdrew, he said, “Agent Barton, you know we expect better from your conduct.”_

_“I have no idea why, Phil,” Clint retorted, relaxing as he dropped to sit on the edge of her bed. He’d shoved her legs over to make room for himself. “I mean, how much more me can you get than pillow fights and tickle wars?”_

_“Uh huh.” Without looking at her, Coulson turned to the door. “Lose the handcuffs, Romanoff. Then take a shower. I expect to see you both in the training room in ninety minutes—_ after _a meal.”_

_Then he was gone and Clint laid back on her laughing. “Did you see their faces?”_

_“No, your ass was in the way.” But she bumped her pelvis to make him sit up. “Their response time is shit though. I could have killed you three different ways.”_

_“Could not.”_

_“Of course I could…”_

_“Pfft. You’re making things up,” he challenged her, but his tone was playful and his eyes dancing._

_Rolling her eyes, she eased out the paperclip she’d hidden under the seam of the bed sheet and picked the lock on her cuffs. Clint stared at her, the playful teasing drifting away. “Why?”_

_She didn’t know how to explain it. Wasn’t sure she wanted to, how did she tell him that his sudden absence left her bereft—that he’d become the stabilizing factor and without it, she’d found herself calculating every escape route, how easily she could get through their security forces. They might—_ might _—be able to stop her eventually, but she would leave a lot of dead bodies in her wake._

_Each day, those calculations grew colder, and more precise._

_Handcuffing herself and isolating to the cell room had been safer for all of them. Especially with Clint gone and if he never came back…_

_“Because,” she said finally. Freed of the handcuffs, she had to resist her inclination to jerk away or punch when he took her hand gently, then ran his thumb over the rubbed raw skin, bruises circling her wrist._

_“Because I was gone?” No judgment hovered in those eyes._

_She glanced away. If she admitted it, it was a weakness. So she just shrugged._

_“Or because I left and didn’t give you any warning?”_

_Closer, still she kept her expression blank._

_With a sigh, he nodded. “Okay. Won’t happen again.” Then he stood and pulled her up gently. “Let’s go, I’m starving and I’m pretty sure Coulson won’t let me eat until you put on an appearance. You don’t want me to waste away to nothing do you?” He clasped a hand to his chest, and gave off the most pathetic, insincere cough ever. “I’m growing weaker by the minute…”_

_Shoving him away, she rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”_

_She was glad he was back._

“Nat,” Steve murmured, drawing her attention back to the quiet room. “Do you want to try and get some sleep?”

She shook her head. No, the last thing she wanted was to sleep. “No, I need to be awake.” Tracking her gaze to the clock, she calculated how long Clint had been in there.

“Three hours, Red.” Tony didn’t look up from the StarkPad. “Friday says the surgery is going well, they’ve gotten the rods and pins into place. It’s not pretty, but the images look good.” Trust Tony to have an eye—or at least Friday—in the operating theatre. “Shoulder looks good, the docs have debrided it, cleaned it thoroughly, and it’s responding to nerve conductivity tests. Might need some muscle rehab, but it’s looking good. They’ll be stitching shortly.”

“No amputation,” James stated, or maybe he asked for clarification. His tone could go either way.

“Nope, there’s another victory for us.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her chin, the boulder she’d been holding up with her shoulders rolled free. Clint had his arm. His arm would heal.

He had his arm.

From the moment Leonid taunted her with the idea of cutting his arm off, she’d recognized the allusion to James but it didn’t matter. It was Clint.

He _needed_ his arm.

Steve’s hand tightened gently on her foot, and a shudder escaped from under the iron fist of restraint she’d shackled on to her reactions.

Only one.

She got to have one shudder.

Then she clamped it back down and focused on her breathing until she had it all under control. When she opened her eyes she met the understanding look in James’ cool blue eyes and avoided the well of concern in Steve’s.

Widows didn’t break.

She was marble.

“How much longer?” Her tone didn’t even waver.

“Another hour, maybe ninety minutes. Then probably another couple of hours before they move him back in here.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “So I vote for a movie. Who wants to watch a movie?”

The last movie they’d watched had been piled together in a blanket fort at the chalet.

“Movie,” Steve said firmly, then shared a wordless look with James. Not for the first time, she got a good look at the long history these two men shared. Then they were on their feet, Steve cleared the table of the food debris while James vanished into the bedroom.

Tony chuckled. “Friday’s got popcorn and drinks on the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, two very dedicated super soldiers had constructed a blanket fort. The military precision folds at the corners took it to a level of anal that had Tony mocking them, but they framed it entirely around Natasha’s armchair allowing her to keep watch on the doors while still snug in as if she were the warmest, and most secure foxhole.

Arrangements made and popcorn delivered, James took Steve’s position up at the foot of her chair while leaving room for Steve to sit next to him. Tony just eyed them with amusement before he sprawled on the sofa cushions they’d pulled off and spread on the floor. The lights dimmed in the room and Tony surfed their film options.

“Action? Comedy?” He made a slight gagging noise. “Rom com?”

The last had to be for her. But she really didn’t care what they watched. “You pick. I got the last one.”

“Where are you on your list, Rogers?” Tony asked without looking at him. “I know we hit _Star Wars_ already including the prequels.” There was just the faintest note of disgust in Tony’s tone for the prequels. If Steve elected those again just to tweak Tony, she hoped he was prepared for the longest lecture in history on how those movies made the Jedi suck.

“ _Lord of the Rings_ ,” Steve answered. “Nat and I were supposed to watch Fellowship but we got the lead on Rumlow.” And after that, there just hadn’t been time.

“Works for me.” He got the movie queued up.

James glanced at Steve. “ _Lord of the Rings_? Tolkien?”

A nod. “Yeah, same guy who wrote _The Hobbit_. Wrote three more, came out in ’54.”

“Better than _The Hobbit_?” Despite his mild tone, interest kindled in James’ voice. “I liked _The Hobbit_.”

“You read _The Hobbit_?” Tony twisted to stare at him, seemingly incredulous.

“I read,” James retorted. “I was seventeen when that came out…worked the docks and read it on my lunch break.” The Brooklyn rolled out of his accent, almost challenging Tony to have a problem with it.

“Huh…well this is about Bilbo’s nephew Frodo and the One Ring.”

James nodded and Tony pressed play. Nat caught Steve glancing at her, and she dredged up the energy to press her knee against his shoulder lightly since she’d curled her feet under her. The position put her shin against James’ shoulder; they sat so close together there was only a scant inch between them. As if almost mirror images, the tension eased from their shoulders.

Nat tried to focus on the trials of young Frodo as he found himself in the possession of the One Ring. The fact Bilbo was even able to let it go a credit to his character, no matter how his time with the ring had ultimately changed him. At his core, he was a good man and that good man shone through the cracks.

Sam, the unsung hero who trudged along with Frodo, gave up everything to follow him and keep him safe. He didn’t know how to quit, even if the tale would eventually pull Frodo into a darkness he could never fully emerge from. Sam wouldn’t leave him there alone.

Not even the arrival of Aragorn, the Ranger or their subsequent journey to Rivendell could captivate her. She kept tuning out the movie and watching the door, tracking the time. Boromir breaking faith and going after Frodo was on the screen when the doors opened. She was up and over the arm of the chair before Tony could pause it.

The doctor who stepped inside was not the same one from earlier. He was older, with steel gray hair and a blunt face.

“Mr. Barton did very well, we have stabilized and secured the femur. He will definitely have to undergo rehabilitation, but once the bone knits it will be stronger than ever. We used a titanium rod to fuse the pieces of the femur together.”

Confirming what Tony had already told her, good news.

“His shoulder was infected, we’ve got him on a strong course of antibiotics, and we’ve debrided, flushed and re-stitched the wound. Nerve conduction showed nearly ninety percent, there could be some compression but I don’t expect it to be a problem as the swelling goes down. He’ll need a few days of rest, but we’d like to set up his course for physical therapy as soon as possible. Walking will help reduce the chance for atrophy in his leg.”

“How long until he’s moved back in here?” Tony asked when she said nothing. It was like she as frozen in place.

Clint was fine.

“He’s been in recovery for the last hour, we were waiting on the last round of blood work to clear. They’ll be moving him in here shortly.” With that the doctor walked over to a wall, inserted a key and pressed in a code, then the wall turned translucent, revealing a hospital room on the other side. It was still done in pleasant colors, but a hospital room looked like a hospital room.

It probably smelled like one.

Sweat prickled along her hair line.

“We’ll ask that you limit the time with him at first, we’d prefer if he slept. He was severely dehydrated and lacking in electrolytes and other vitamins, we’ve got him on saline and nutrition for now, but we’ll introduce food once he’s awake.”

A hand brushed hers, easing the hilt of the blade out of her palm. She hadn’t even realized she’d picked it up, and held it so her arm hid the blade. James shifted to enter her periphery, the blade nowhere in sight.

“The prognosis is good,” the doctor finished, glancing at each of them in turn. Expectation filtered through his professional veneer galvanizing Nat.

“Thank you very much, Doctor. I can’t tell you how worried we’ve been.” She added a perfectly grateful smile, slipping right into the role of the patient’s relieved family.

The doctor’s reticence evaporated and he closed the distance between them to clasp her hands. Nat did not break his arms. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you…” then he hesitated because he didn’t have a name for her.

Natalie Rushman was burned along with so many others. “Rausch, but you can call me Nina.”

“Ms. Rausch then. If you have any questions just have the nurse ring me, I’ll be here for the next twenty-four hours.” Then he gave her hands another squeeze, before finally releasing her. She didn’t break his arm then either, though it wouldn’t have taken much to flip him into a thumb hold and wrench his arm back until he screamed.

Those hands had saved Clint.

So she wouldn’t hurt them.

As if summoned by the thought, they wheeled Clint into the room next door. The dim lighting didn’t give her a lot to work with, but she crossed to the door separating her from the room. The nurses and orderlies moved with quiet confidence getting him settled and making sure he was hooked to all the correct monitors. A sealed bandage coated his shoulder, though she only got a glimpsed of his leg, it looked bandaged rather than in a cast.

Arms folded, she waited for them to finish. The lighting shift sent a familiar current down her spine as an alternative scene played out. A scene where they tried to resuscitate Fury and he flat lined. How long has she stood there and waited, waited for it to be proven a lie, waited to wake up, waited for it to be anything other than that.

This wasn’t the same thing.

Clint wasn’t lying to her.

He wasn’t about to fake his death and leave her to mourn.

He was there and he was alive.

Finally the nurse glanced at them to beckon and Nat was through the door. “He’s groggy,” she said softly. “Try not to let him fight to be awake. Sleep is the best thing for him.”

She spared the woman a nod, and then moved to stand near the head of the bed. They had him partially up, with his leg elevated, probably to keep both above his heart. His eyes flickered open, just slits.

“Nat?”

“Idiot,” she answered, and a tiny smile graced his lips.

“Don’t pick on wounded guy.”

“Don’t get wounded then,” she retaliated, voice easier and calmer than she felt.

His eyes opened a little more, and he blinked. His pupils were still a little blown from the anesthetic, and his voice huskier. “You doing okay?”

“Fine.” She wanted to touch him, but she also didn’t want to dislodge anything so she satisfied the need with staring at him.

“Liar,” he countered.

She shrugged. “Old dog. No new tricks.”

A raspy chuckle escaped. “Uh huh, send Captain America in here would you?”

“Nope,” she told him. “I’ve got this watch. You sleep.”

“Nat…”

“Later,” she told him. “Later.”

He tried to glare at her, but his eyes were already drooping. “You need to rest…”

“And I will…later.”

His eyes popped open again, he was fighting it. “You didn’t call Laura, did you?”

“No,” she promised. “I didn’t…wanted to, but I didn’t.”

He frowned. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“No, but maybe just maybe she’d want to know. Want to be there…” Twelve months.

“Maybe…not fair to her.” His eyes drifted close. “Call kids, yeah? Make sure they’re okay?”

“I will,” she sighed. But she couldn’t tell Laura, no matter how much she wanted to. Clint didn’t want her to know. Then his breathing evened out and he was asleep. She must have sat there for hours, just watching the monitors, watching him, observing the staff as they came and went. If they went anywhere near Clint, she made sure to see their hands at all times.

Steve came in at one point, and brought her a blanket to tuck around her legs. Tony brought her coffee. James brought her socks. The socks were kind of funny because they were way too big, but they were comfortable.

They each took time sitting there with Clint and she, but no one asked her to go or tried to make her. No one protested her presence at all. She didn’t know if they finished watching the movie or moved on to the next. Dawn crept around the edges of the windows, and then the sun turned the edges golden yellow by the time Clint opened his eyes again.

“You look like shit,” he said by way of greeting.

“Still prettier than you,” she managed, though the swelling in her cheek made her smile a little lopsided.

“For once, I’d say that’s debatable.” He sounded better, clearer. The slur of drugs wearing away. “You sleep at all?”

A little shake of her head. “I’m fine.”

Clint turned his head, glancing over to the suite living room on the other side of the glass. James was sprawled in her abandoned chair, and angled to keep an eye on her, Clint, and the doors. Tony wasn’t visible, but she’d bet he was on the sofa. Steve was just emerging from one of the bedrooms, but he didn’t look like he’d slept yet either. He flashed a smile in their direction before he claimed a second chair near James’—they’d apparently rearranged furniture when taking down the fort.

“Looks like everyone else got out okay,” Clint said. “I’m remembering all that right, yeah?”

“All good. Bad guys went boom. Red Room version whatever is now smoke and rubble.” She tried to keep it light. “The only one really hurt was you.”

“We can agree to disagree on that one. You eat?”

“You don’t get to nag me until you’re out of that bed,” she warned him.

“Uh huh. Did you eat?”

She rolled her eyes, but this time her smile verged closer to real. “Yes, I ate. Tony got me fish and chips.”

Clint chuckled. “Wrapped in newspaper?”

“Yes, just like the kind I used to get in Blackpool by the Sea. I can’t imagine where he got his intel.” Not that she had to imagine.

“A favorite food is not a state secret, and it’s also a good way to shut him up. Blame him for remembering it since I told him a couple of years ago.”

“You can be forgiven the occasional lapse,” she leaned forward so she could lean against the upraised head of the bed and it wasn’t a strain for him to look. “Especially since it was good.”

“Think they’re going to feed me? And if they don't you wanna smuggle me in a burger?”

“I know they are going to feed you, they put you on a nutrition bag since you were severely dehydrated and deficient in many areas.” Because they’d starved him. They’d had him for a couple of days, but they’d hurt him and put him in that cell.

“We’ve survived worse,” he reminded her. “Remember when you tripped the alarm at the Berrington’s Oil Refinery?”

“You mean when you did?” Though to be fair, no one had caught that the electricians had cut corners and wired the alarms directly into the breakers for the tanks. Of course, the two dozen mercenaries who came to flush them out pretty much gave them the evidence they needed to prove Berrington was a front.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, looking up at the ceiling. “That was me. Well, that Roxxon reception was all you.”

“Nope,” she said, almost smiling again. “That was still you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Oh yes, I know better than to offer the Indian ambassador meat. Or tell him, you meant to slip the meat to his wife because she looked like she could use it.”

Grimacing, Clint sighed. “Probably not my finest hour.”

“Nope. But it did get you to the security office, so we can count that as a win even if it took two cracked ribs.”

“Fine, you’re right. The look on his face was pretty priceless though.”

Shock. And horror. Definitely priceless. “Did you have to tell him it was monkey meat?”

“To be fair, I thought it was a delicacy…”

“Because you watched _Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom_. Pop culture does not a good research resource make.”

“Says the little girl who learned her English watching Disney movies.”

“And James,” she told him and the moment she said it, she realized it was true. The Soldier had taught her English, she had a grasp of it, but he’d worked on her diction.

“What?” Clint frowned and locked gazes with her.

“James—the Soldier, taught me English. I knew some, a few words and phrases, but my English was as bad as his Russian…actually I think his Russian was worse. We taught each other.” The memory was almost bittersweet, and while a sore spot it didn’t leave her bleeding like so many other memories from that time.

“Well, that’s something.” He seemed to be searching her eyes. “You’re remembering more, aren’t you?”

“About that…” She had to tell him about the BARF technology, gently editing the brutalizing migraine afterwards, and maybe downplaying the concussion. By the time she finished, she could practically read the riot act in his eyes.

“I’m going to kill Stark.”

“No,” she told him. “You’re not. They didn’t want to do it, but I insisted.”

“You’ve never been a good judge of when something is too much for you. He’s supposed to be a genius.”

“Clint…I needed to know. There’s still so much I don’t…” And other memories were dredging, little ones—like remembering the dresses in the floorboards, or the first time someone brought her a flower. They weren’t big, but they were…more than she’d ever had.

“You worry me, Tash.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He grumbled, but he blew out a breath. “Fine, I won’t kill him. But I might maim him.”

“I’d rather you didn’t…he went to an awful lot of trouble to save you and I think that would be a poor way to thank him.”

“Fine, I’ll shoot Steve. He was there and he’ll heal.”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Or Barnes. Barnes can take a hit. Owe him a couple after Odessa anyway.”

She let him ramble, he was angry because he cared. Probably because he wasn’t there for her when it happened.

“You know…” he said finally. “If Coulson were still here, I’d rat you out to him.”

“He’d make us both do paperwork, so ratting me out would land you in the same file bin with me. Me for doing it and you because you’re the sap who agreed that anything I did reflected on you.”

“Might be worth it,” he mused. “You suck at DD-29s.”

“It’s a ridiculous form that you two made up,” she maintained. “The only time I ever had to do them was after missions where Coulson didn’t approve of my methods.” Who needed an essay detailing each critical decision a mission required.

“No, where your methodology was reckless,” Clint reminded her. “He didn’t have to approve our ops, just didn’t like the ones where you took dangerous chances. Not my fault, my actions were never in question.”

Liar.

“No just the adopting of semi-feral Russian assassins.”

“Semi-feral?” He snorted. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.” Then he went on to regale her with the sheer volume of paperwork recruiting her had cost him, right down to the number of paper cuts. The long litany of complaints was a familiar beat, and her lashes dipped as he spoke. The words were like water in a stream, smoothing over the jagged edges and finally her eyes shut and she floated. Sleep was right there, tangling around her and pulling her down. She remained half-aware, but she didn’t want to move.

“Shh,” Clint said to someone. “She’s finally asleep. Come take her and put her in a bed. Then sit on her if you have to. She needs to sleep.”

“We’ve been trying.” Steve. Okay, Steve was safe enough. Arms lifted her, and she protested because her blanket fell away. Then she had her face tucked against a very warm shoulder, it hurt a little and she must have protested because he adjusted her.

She should open her eyes, but they were glued and everything in seemed weighted down. Then he was moving. There was the murmur of more voices, but she was sinking and they grew indistinct. She was supposed to watch Clint, but with every step she dipped further and then she was out.


	45. Let's finish the job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They survived the mission, but the guys know their problems are far from over.

Chapter Forty-Five

_Let’s finish the job_

Steve

 

Bucky followed, then opened the door to the bedroom as Steve carried her in. He pulled back the blankets so Steve could slide her between the sheets, then carefully settled her head on the pillow. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her.

“You want to stay?” He glanced at his best friend, aware of what he was offering and why. Right now, it wasn’t about who had the right to be there.

It was about Natasha taking bites of food to convince him to eat, about her demonstrating Bucky’s wariness of food. She’d noticed something Steve hadn’t gathered. It was about Bucky letting Steve do the same thing for him. It was about the fact his best friend hadn’t taken his attention off Natasha for more than a few seconds at a time since she’d gone to be with Clint.

And while he’d watched, he’d asked questions. How had Steve met her? How long had they known each other? At first, they had been little questions, almost prodding him to speak and once Steve got started, he couldn’t stop. Tony had thrown in a few comments, and between them, they brought Buck up to speed.

“I’d like to,” Bucky told him. “Just a while.”

Steve nodded. “I don’t think she should be alone if she wakes…”

“Nightmares,” Buck surmised and Steve gave him a small smile.

“Pretty sure I’m going to have them.” Admitting it cost him nothing and for a moment, Buck’s expression was all 1942 Bucky. He gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Me too.” They both looked at her. “We’ll trade out in a bit?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “One of us should stay with Clint.”

Understanding flared in Bucky’s eyes. Clint’s health was the one violently important thing to her right now, so they would make sure he was all right. “We can do that.”

“Yeah we can.”

As reluctant as he was to leave her, he wasn’t upset about leaving her with Buck.

“Stevie?”

He paused at the door to glance back. Bucky pitched his voice low, but Steve had no trouble hearing him. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” For a moment, sheepishness crept into Bucky’s gaze along with surprise. He hadn’t expected Steve to agree, or if he had, maybe he hadn’t thought Steve would be willing to leave them alone.

“You never have to thank me, Buck.” Because Bucky would do it for him. “Maybe some day…you can tell me more about you and Natalia.”

A little smile curved his mouth. “I’d like that…”

Ignoring the ache for both of them, he nodded. “Try to rest if you can.” Then he let himself out before he could change his mind. Bucky and Natasha deserved a chance to figure things out as much as Steve wanted a chance for he and Natasha. But… later.

Tony glanced up from the sofa, his eyes bloodshot and his hair askew. “She okay?”

“Sleeping. You should probably get some, too.” The engineer hadn’t really slept all night, like all of them. But he’d also been working and while he hadn’t said anything, Steve had seen the files on the StarkPad. He was decrypting what they’d pulled out of the facility’s mainframes before they destroyed it. And he was searching for any reference to Natasha.

There were still a lot of questions, about her, her DNA and what all had been done to her because of it. Steve didn’t care what the results were, only if they would ultimately come back to hurt her. He knew exactly who Natasha was, and that was what was important. Tony wouldn’t let it go though, and Tony cared enough about her to make sure he understood it—even the ugly details.

“I will…” Tony said after he glanced at his watch. “In a couple of hours. It’s still four in the morning at home, I want to catch the morning news broadcasts and I need to check in with Pepper and the legal team.”

“If you want to sleep, I can wake you up in a couple of hours.”

He’d been running for hours, Steve couldn’t actually recall the last time Tony had slept.

“Maybe…you okay with leaving her alone with Bucky?” The use of Bucky’s name rather than Barnes surprised Steve more than the question. Tony and Bucky were a long way from friends. The fact Tony had been helping him, and working with him meant a hell of a lot.

“Yeah, I okay with it. He cares about her. I’m going to keep an eye on Clint. We’ll trade off so you can all get some sleep.”

“And when do you sleep?” Challenge rested in his raised eyebrows.

“I slept for seventy years, some days I don’t need much and after this week… it might be a while.” If he closed his eyes, he didn’t want to see the tank room, or Leonid slapping Natasha around while they had to let it happen. She’d warned them, told them not to interfere. It would be better for the questioning and to trust her. Trusting her wasn’t the problem, letting it happen was the problem. It grated when he realized they’d used triggers on her, worse when the bastard had sent her after the other two to kill them.

He and Bucky had torn out the doors to their cages at almost the same instant. Tony had his suit on its way, and they reacted. If she was going into a fight, so were they.

“Yeah, can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing the chair or any of it in my dreams,” Tony admitted, then stood and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think I’ll take you up on the offer. Two hours, yeah?”

“Two hours,” Steve promised, then risked bumping his shoulder with a light fist as he passed. Tony gave him a nod, but even better—he didn’t flinch from the contact.

Progress.

At some point, the food debris had been cleared away and fresh coffee brought. Steve made himself a cup and then after a glance at Clint, made one for the archer as well. A nurse was just stepping out when Steve eased into the room. Clint’s eyes were half-closed, but he said, “If that coffee is for me, I might kiss you.”

Chuckling, Steve circled the bed to hook his foot against the leg of a chair and pulled it over before handing a cup to Clint. “Well, lucky for you I don’t deal in trade.”

“Eh, the beard is working for me.” The other man said, his tired smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Nat sleeping?”

“Yeah, tucked in.”

“You’re here?” He took a slow sip of the coffee and something resembling ecstasy flashed across his face.

“Buck’s with her,” Steve told him, half expecting that was why he asked. “And yes, I’m okay with him being in there.”

“Is she?”

“Well that I can’t answer. But I didn’t come in here to talk to you about the three of us.” He took a swallow of the coffee. Despite the fact it didn’t do much for him, he still enjoyed the flavor and the ritual.

“Okay,” Clint said slowly after he had another drink then reached to set the cup on the side. It was an awkward angle, so Steve took it for him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Leaning back against the pillows, Clint winced a little then relaxed. Tired marked his face, but his eyes were alert. Even more alert than when Steve found Nat sleeping.

“Well, c’mon then, Cap. Spit it out. I may pass out on you at any point.” His dry tone suggested otherwise, but Steve got the point.

“Not sure where I want to start,” he admitted.

“The beginning is usually a good place.”

Leaning forward, Steve glanced at the door, using the excuse to do a visual sweep to buy himself some time. “You want to talk about what happened when they took you?”

“Not particularly. You wanna tell me about letting Nat try Stark’s memory reboot box?”

A small shake of his head, Steve grimaced. He understood why she pushed herself, but he didn’t have to like it. Especially not after what happened. “Not particularly.” Then he studied Clint. “She blames herself for what happened to you.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Clint told him, without missing a beat. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“I know that, but she doesn’t…” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he thought of a dozen different ways to say the next sentences—but this was Clint. If anyone knew, he would. “She sees everything tied to the Red Room as tainted, and her more than anyone. It’s like she thinks she’s…a monster. I don’t know how to get past that, because I don’t care about her history.”

“Sure you do.” Clint adjusted his arm, and worked on flexing his fingers—maybe testing the feeling in them. Maybe he needed to do something since he wasn’t up to punching one of them yet. Head tilted back, Clint eyed him from beneath half-closed eyes. “Right now you’re thinking you understand enough, that you have the whole picture.”

“You’re saying I don’t?” He thought back to the tank room and the mute horror on her face that gradually just went blank the deeper into the forest of mechanical terror she went. Steve—Steve couldn’t wrap his mind around that place. To think somewhere in there was where she too had been created. Was it even possible? Could they really have succeeded with one where they failed with so many others? A little perverse voice in his head had no problems saying, _Why not? Erskine did with you, didn't he?_ Then again, there was also the Erskine piece. He’d worked with the Russians _before_ Natasha had been… born.

“I’m saying no one can really understand the full extent of another person’s life. One as complicated as hers?” Clint shook his head. “We get pieces Cap. If we’re damn lucky, we get pieces. If we’re luckier, we can share pieces of ourselves with the same person, and we can stitch them together—the bits that fit. But we only ever get pieces.”

When Clint slanted his head toward the coffee, Steve retrieved it and returned the cup to his hand. It had cooled enough, Clint drank the whole thing, then let Steve take the empty mug. He wasn’t sure if that gave him comfort or something more to worry about.

“Cap, you wanted to find her because you wanted those pieces you thought she’d kept from you about your best friend. See you have pieces of him, but so does she. He has pieces of you, but he also has pieces of her.” Weariness crept into his voice.

Pieces. They had pieces they shared and pieces they kept to themselves. Clint’s family. Tony’s designs. Bruce’s personal connections. Thor’s affection for his brother. Nat’s past. Steve? He guarded his pain.

“You should rest, I’m supposed to be looking after you. Not keeping wearing you out.”

“Eh…this place isn’t so bad, and I’ve felt worse. Waking up with the murder twins wasn’t fun.”

Steve laughed briefly, but it was a hollow note. “If I didn’t say it earlier…I’m glad you’re still with us.”

“Me too. Thanks for having her back.” A yawn punctuated the sentence. “And mine.”

“Not a problem.” Whatever happened next, they’d all have to figure it out. But for now… “Get some sleep. I’ve got this watch. Bucky’s gonna take the next one.”

 

Tony

He slept for about ninety minutes, then Friday buzzed him. Groggy as hell, he peered at his watch and tried to put the cognitive pieces of his brain back together. Another buzz, and he ground the heels of his hands against his eyes as though he could drive the sleep away.

“Yeah…” He managed. “’m ‘wake…what?”

“The committee sent word they want to speak to you first thing, Boss.”

The committee…the committee… Shaking his head, Tony shoved his feet off the bed and leaned forward like it would get the blood pumping to his brain. “It’s…it’s almost dawn in New York… ‘he hell are they meeting this early?”

“Meeting just broke, Boss. They’ll be convening right after lunch, and they want you there if possible.”

Even if he poured on the speed, no way he’d make it from Switzerland to New York by lunchtime on the East Coast. Peeling the sleep away from his brain gradually, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He thought he’d shaved with his shower, but the rough stubble on his cheeks said maybe not.

“See if Pepper’s awake, would ya? And give me a minute.” Pushing to his feet, he staggered into the bathroom to deal with his bladder. After he washed his face, the cold water helping to shake some of the grit from his eyes, but by no means all of it.

Stepping out of the bedroom, he made a beeline for the coffee. The carafe was still hot. Filling the largest cup he could fine, he doctored it with sugar and cream before peering over at Clint’s room. The archer appeared to be asleep, but Cap was stationed in a chair nearby—what looked like a pad of paper open on his lap and a pencil in his hand.

Huh. He’d almost forgotten Cap’s habit of sketching. It seemed years since the last time he’d seen him doing that. But it could have only been months right? He lifted the hand with his coffee in it in a half salute.

“Boss,” Friday said softly into his ear. “Ms. Potts asked for five minutes, then she’d be ready.”

“Thanks baby girl.”

After taking a long drink of the coffee to get the caffeine and sugar into his deprived system, Tony made his way over to Clint’s room. “How’s he doing?” To his bleary eyes, the archer looked pretty good. His face wasn’t that sickly pale it had been when they’d wheeled him inside.

“Sleeping,” Steve said in an equally low voice. “Coherent when he’s awake. In pain, but not so much they can’t seem to control it.” He nodded to the drips.

Good. Overall the prognosis looked good. Neither Nat nor Bucky were anywhere to be seen, which meant they were still sleeping in the other room. Or at least she was.

“You could probably get a little more sleep,” Steve suggested, but he didn’t sound like he was pushing.

“Got work,” Tony mumbled, then drank some more of the coffee. At this rate, he’d have consumed the whole mug before he made it back to talk to Pepper. “Can you hit the button over there and tell them to bring up more coffee—and probably the breakfast buffet.”

“It’s almost lunch here.”

“Yeah…” Tony nodded for a minute, then smirked. His body clock wasn’t even sure what time zone he was in anymore, much less time of day. “I don’t care. I want food.”

Steve chuckled. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Right.” Then Tony left them to it. He’d come spend some time with Clint when the archer was feeling better or something. Not like he could do anything just sitting there. Back in the room, he’d claimed for himself he’d just finished the last drops of coffee when Friday told him Pepper was on the line.

“Morning Pep…”

“You sound terrible, Tony.” She always did know how to stroke his ego.

“And you’re a breath of sunshine on a cool spring morning, but we can’t both be perfect.” The snark rolled right off his tongue.

“Probably not…” For a moment, just a moment, he half-expected her to scold him or at the very least chide him for not taking care of himself. Instead, she said, “The committee has been in closed door sessions for the last forty-eight hours.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, still not quite firing on all cylinders. “And they want to meet with me?”

“It’s your case, Tony. The one we presented about removing Ross?” The addendum helped. Hell, that was still going on? They hadn’t gotten rid of him yet? How long had it been since he’d presented the case to them?

“Can’t be good news if they aren’t just doing it,” he mused aloud.

“I wish I knew what it was,” she said, sounding as weary as he felt. “They called in a number of witnesses—including King T’Challa and Betty Ross.” The last ended on a bit of a question.

“Her name is in some of the files we sent over,” Tony admitted. “Didn’t think they’d actually bring his daughter into it.”

“Hunter went with her,” Pepper assured him. “He insisted she have legal counsel present and technically, he’s still a lawyer.”

Good. “And no hints on what way they’re swinging?”

“Are you not watching the news?” Surprise filtered through her words.

A jolt pumped through Tony, he’d scanned the headlines at some point the night before but nothing had jumped out at him. Friday would have poked him if something on Ross had broken. Then again, maybe not, they’d been pretty focused on cleaning up the Red Room mess.

“Let’s pretend I’ve been oblivious…”

“Oh Tony.” Disappointment filtered through each syllable. “You haven’t been drinking, right?”

“No,” he grimaced. Not that he could blame her for the assumption. “Let’s also pretend I’ve been really busy. You know…developing stuff.” A loose facsimile of the truth, but enough he was comfortable with sticking to it.

“Fine…the news that broke about Ross a couple of weeks ago? New reports are now tying him to Obadiah.”

His gut tightened.

“You know…you know his death was reported as the result of a plane crash?” Careful selection of words, editing out SHIELD’s involvement in the cover up.

“Yes.” One word, and please let them not dig into that again. “What about it?”

“Apparently…apparently for some reason, they are linking Ross to it—tangentially. It’s all speculation and supposition, but it’s gotten the press going all over again.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. Or even if he should care.

“Tony,” Pepper warned gently. “They’re speculating your issues with Ross are tied directly into _blaming_ him for Obadiah.”

For the love of… He just started laughing. It came out a titter, almost a hysterical bump of air bursting out through a chuckle, then deepened. Leaning all the way forward, he pressed a hand to his forehead and wheezed laughter.

“Tony… I don’t think this is funny. If they buy into this, then it undermines everything you’ve done.”

Yep. Obadiah, dead for years and still sticking a knife in his back. “It’s a riot really. Just… rumor and conjecture, yeah?”

Her voice gentled. “Tony, I’m so sorry, we were making progress. I really thought we were. Then those stories started appearing…and the committee went behind closed doors.”

If they were still talking about it all this time later, then they hadn’t moved fast enough.

“What about Ellis?”

Her silence was telling. Finally, she said, “He hasn’t been formally asked to step down—and you know these things can take time.”

Of course he did. Especially if there was a way for them to weasel out the backdoor. “The pardons?”

“Stalled.”

“The case against Nat?”

Nothing.

“Pepper?”

“Nothing concrete…but there are rumors.”

Of course there were. “She’s still on the news?”

“Every night. Even when it seems the story is going to go stale, someone discovers previously unseen footage of something…the latest bit is so ridiculous though. I don’t know how anyone would believe it.”

He would. “Tell me.”

“There are unconfirmed reports that she’s the product of a Hydra experiment conducted with the former Soviet Union.” Despite labeling it a rumor, Pepper just sounded exhausted—and maybe a little defeated. “There are pictures…”

“What?”

“A picture of Nat—or someone reported to be Nat—as a child. They claim they’re from the late 30s or early 40s.” Okay pure conjecture except…

“Pepper…rip the Band-Aid off.”

“Of a little girl in at tank…where she was grown.”

Dehumanizing her. The tank room had scalded itself to his memory. There’d been lots of—people in those tanks. Including those who looked just like Nat, similar enough in facial features to be related.

“Find a way to discredit those. We’re talking the images have to be over seventy years old. That technology probably didn’t even exist much less have a basis in fact.” It didn’t exist anymore. They’d blown it all to hell, and taken the evidence of it with them.

But they needed to do damage control. Nat’s age and serum status needed to not be a question.

“We’re working on it,” she promised. Maybe it was his imagination, but something still sounded a little off with her.

“You okay?”

Silence met his question, then, “I’m fine. Just—trying to sort this out.”

“You sure?” She didn’t sound fine, but he couldn’t say that without it sounding insulting, right? Then again, she seemed to like it when he noticed. “You don’t sound fine.”

“You’d think after all these years, I would be used to having to clean up after your one night stands.”

The pin dropping on the phone had to have been what was left of his brain cells. “I don’t think you’ve had to do that since I made you CEO.” He wasn’t trying to be combative, but he also wasn’t looking for this fight.

“Right around the time Natalie Rushman sauntered into our lives.” But apparently Pepper was. All right then.

“I didn’t sleep with Natalie Rushman.”

“Of course you didn’t, because Natalie Rushman was a cover. Her real name is Natasha.” Then she let out a harsh breath. “And no, I’m _not_ doing this, I said I wouldn’t be doing this. Just…leave it alone Tony.”

“I didn’t start it, Pep,” he told her, doing his damnedest to keep his voice even. “If you’ve got a problem with what I’ve been asking you to do. Tell me.” He needed Pepper on this, she was damn good at cutting right through the red tape, and she kept it laser focused and professional. It was something she and Nat had in common. He might fly off on tangents, they didn’t.

“I do not have a problem, Mr. Stark.” The hell she didn’t.

“Is that so, Ms. Potts?” Because he was starting to have one. “Why don’t you tell me what the _exact_ issue is so I can resolve it rather than playing guess what I did wrong today? The list as you can imagine, has been extensive over the years, and neither of us is in the mood to play.”

“Your obsession with clearing Natasha…it’s getting in the way of everything else.” Clipped. Cool. Irritated. “She’s…she’s radioactive Tony, and I _like_ her despite everything. But they’re not going to bend on this. Whether we can get rid of Ross or not, she has too many enemies. Too many people from too many countries want her to pay for her crimes.”

“So we just give up? That’s your advice?”

Pepper sighed. It was a slight sound. A soft exhalation. A warning bell that they were about to actively dive into the fight. One he typically missed before she launched the full salvo. He’d pushed her.

Too far.

“No, Tony. That’s not my advice. My advice originally was to stay out of it. To not get so tied up in the Avengers you couldn’t extract. Then my advice was for you to stop using the suit. I understand every reason you’ve ever given me for why you do it, and I respect _most_ of them. But some fights you cannot win because some fights you should not start.” A beat of silence then, “You got into all of this because you felt guilty. You felt bad that your decisions had some pretty negative fallout. You wanted to make yourself feel better, only…the Accords didn’t make anything better. They didn’t alleviate you of the responsibility and now you’re trying to fix everything. Again.”

Each syllable struck like a blow.

“And if you don’t stop, if you don’t accept that maybe you can’t fix everything—the damage you do might be worse than Ultron or the Accords or anything else. Dammit, Tony…” Her voice softened, and tears edged it. He swallowed.

He hated it when Pepper cried.

“Pepper…she—they’re my team,” he had almost said friends, but the word didn’t apply to all of them. “They’re—family.” Admitting that wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. “I can’t give up.”

“I know,” she said with a kind of tired finality. “You aren’t going to meet with the committee in person, are you?”

“Nope. Sorry.” He almost was. “Going to have to phone it in.”

“I’ll see if we can smooth the waters. Rhodey can stand in, be there physically while you’re on the phone.”

“Sounds good.” Something caught in his throat, something she’d said earlier. “Pep?”

“Yes, Tony?” The perfunctory was back, she wanted to get off the phone.

“I never had sex with Natasha when she was Natalie. Or ever, actually.”

Silence.

“I know we’re not together, and I respect the choices you made. But you said something about her…I wasn’t sleeping with her then, and I’m not sleeping with her now.”

A long exhalation of air. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“No,” she said after a beat too long. “I don’t know. But I know _you_ …I know you when you want something.”

“If it was just about what I wanted, you and I would still be together.” Maybe it was his turn to go a little too far. “And I know I ask a lot of you. If this is too much, you tell me.” God he hoped it wasn’t and she wouldn’t. He needed her. But if she needed him to not need her…he’d figure it out.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him gently. “I promise, I won’t give up.” But it was the kind of promise you gave someone when you knew it wouldn’t work out anyway. It was an easy promise if you thought failure was assured.

“You’re the best,” he told her, and he meant it. Then the call ended and he put his face in his hands.

They were going to need a Plan E or something.

 

Clint

 

 

Barnes had replaced Steve when he woke again. The dull throb in his shoulder had diminished to an ache. His thigh hurt, too but only with a kind of stinging awareness probably more related to the surgery than the broken bone. The mental inventory took him a minute, but he had no doubt Barnes knew he was awake, because when he opened his eyes the man had a cup of water with a straw ready for him.

After a drink, he managed a hoarse, “Thanks.”

“Food came.” He motioned to the covered plate. “It’s a sandwich, I told them something cold so it would keep while you slept.”

“Appreciate it,” he told him, and then reached for the control to adjust the bed. He wanted to sit up more. Being more prone with Nat or Steve was fine. He wasn’t there with Barnes yet…

A nod, but Barnes wasn’t relaxed. If anything, he seemed trapped in hyper vigilant mode.

“Something happen?” Had something set him off?

Barnes shifted the portable table over to slide his food in front of him. Clint took a minute to get his bearings. He hated anesthesia and while he could tolerate hospitals better than Nat, he’d rather be somewhere else. In fact, the others shouldn’t be lingering here with him. It narrowed their options if someone discovered he was here.

“Stark’s been talking to the UN Committee for a couple of hours.”

That couldn’t be good news. “Okay.”

“The removal of Ross is still in question.” While Barnes might not know Ross, at least personally, he’d been around for a few of those discussions. Course it didn’t matter, Ross was behind the hunt for Nat ergo Barnes would not be happy with the news.

Clint got the lid off the plate, and eyed the sandwich. Roast beef, cheddar cheese, heavy dough bread, and if his nose wasn’t wrong—horseradish. The plate itself was cold, so it had kept the sandwich chilly.

“Tony will figure it out,” he said after taking a first, very satisfying bite. “These things take time.” These things being the legitimate methods without resulting to a bullet from two miles away.

A nod. The other man was silent, his expression unreadable.

Taking his time, Clint worked his way through the sandwich and alternated with sips of water. It actually took a lot of energy to eat, but it felt like years since his last meal. He filled up quickly, so he kept the bites small. Barnes wanted something else. Sure he was on watch, splitting the duty with Steve like Steve said earlier—but Clint had a sense when people wanted to talk but weren’t sure how to approach it.

Or maybe, he had a sense where former brainwashed Soviet assassins were concerned. Emotions weren’t comfortable territory. Admitting ignorance or at least a lack of it revealed a weakness. Language and social barriers were probably the easiest to side step, but understanding what it was they really wanted to know?

Well, if Clint had a dollar for every time he’d waited for Natasha to figure out the words, he’d be able to cover all three kids for college tuition without blinking.

If it were Nat, he’d have done what he did earlier—talked until she started talking. It had worked for them. He was still on the fence about whether Barnes was worth it. But, Clint had been a sniper, and he could wait him out.

He had actually finished the sandwich, and the water when Barnes glanced at him again. “Are you up for a question? Or do you require more sleep?”

Well with a lead like that… “Throw in some coffee, and I’d be good for a question or three.”

Barnes nodded, then cleared away the plate and cover, before stepping into the other room. Man took stuff way too literal. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. He wasn’t literal all the time, just—most of it. He was still struggling, and that was easy to forget because they hadn’t really had a chance to catch their breath.

Pretty sure multiple ops hadn’t been what the doctors in Wakanda had in mind when they woke him from cryo and sent him to Steve. Nat had mentioned he needed sleep—or the doctors recommended sleep. His mind was still repairing itself, and outside of a couple of questionable incidents, he’d been pretty stable.

He returned with two cups. “I brought one sweet and one not. I didn’t remember how you took it.”

“Black is fine.”

He handed over the correct coffee then stood, just holding the other. If it were possible for a six-foot plus guy with a metal arm to look awkward, he achieved it.

Barnes waited for Clint to take a couple of sips of the coffee before he nodded. “What is a Violet Carson?”

Of all the questions he’d expected, that wasn’t one. “A what now?”

“A Violet Carson.”

Frowning, he cocked his head to the side. The name was familiar. Really familiar. It sounded like something… “I think it’s from a movie. Why?” But weren’t they red in the movie?

The former assassin chewed at his lower lip. The cool, detached unreadability fluctuating for troubled young man. While Clint was well aware both Barnes and Nat were older than him in terms of birthdates, and the fact Nat had actually been alive and working for the KGB when Clint had been born, he couldn’t get over how young they both seemed. Maybe it was the emotional maturity that had been stunted in both.

“Natalia made some calls before we left for the op.”

Not unusual, so Clint waited.

“She was speaking to someone and said…seven days. Wait seven days and then send Evey the Violet Carsons.”

Evey? Isaiah. Clint would bet his good arm it was Isaiah she was talking to. “Evey is a character from a graphic novel—a movie, they made it into a movie.”

“She wants to send a movie character something?” Skepticism raked over the words. Then he shook his head, “It’s a code. I know it’s a code, but I don’t understand the code.”

Awkward. Clint was pretty sure he understood it, but only because he understood Nat. “In the movie…there’s a story of a woman who was incarcerated for being gay, for not conforming to the state. She was tortured, experimented on, and spent the last few months of her life in a kind of hell.” He had to be careful with this because Clint understood why Nat empathized with those characters so much.

They’d seen it in the theatre.

She’d disappeared for three days after.

“The woman left a letter, a story about her life and she hid it in the wall.”

Barnes nodded, focusing on his intently.

“The letter was found by a woman named Evey.”

“She was also a prisoner?” His frown deepened. “Did they experiment on her, too?”

“It’s hard to explain and I don’t know if that part is important, what was important was the letter inspired Evey, it motivated her. It gave her—hope. In the letter, the woman also mentions Scarlet Carsons, they’re roses. They play a symbolic role at the end.”

The troubled look on Barnes’ face didn’t diminish. “She wrote letters to people. Evey—isn’t real so she wanted them sent to someone or maybe several someones.”

Clint didn’t confirm it, but the guy really did seem to get Nat.

His troubled look darkened. “She thought she would die.”

Nat always prepared for it. She was a realist.

“She needs to call them and tell them not to send the roses.” He leaned back. “She’s not going to die.”

“She will, when she’s ready.” Maybe after she’d slept and could function again.

The doctor chose that moment to come in. Barnes took a position in the corner of the room, and stared unblinking as the doctor went over the surgery, and what Clint could expect. His gut tripped over the twelve months to fully healed prognosis. They wanted to get him on his feet the next day, but the sooner he was up and moving, the better for his healing. Right now they wanted to preserve muscle strength.

Twelve months.

A fugitive who couldn’t run wasn’t going to be a fugitive for long. By the time the doc finished his exam, Clint wanted to punch something. Months of PT? Between the leg and the shoulder, he would be losing some muscle mass and flexibility. It would take time to train both up again. Time…

“Perhaps Shuri can help,” Barnes suggested after they were alone again. “She helped me.”

“Maybe, not going to count on the generosity of others. I think we’ve already overdrawn on a check from a guy who didn’t owe us anything.” T’Challa seemed like a really good guy, but taking advantage of his kindness seemed a crappy way to repay the enormous favor he’d already done for them.

“Steve will ask,” Barnes told him.

“He doesn’t have to,” Clint tried to brush aside the concern. “I’ll figure something out.”

The other man wore a skeptical frown. “You are not alone.”

“What?”

“You said you will figure it out,” Barnes sounded perfectly reasonable. “You are not alone. Whatever you need—we’ll figure it out.”

“You getting attached to me Barnes?”

“No,” the other man answered, his tone still matter-of-fact. “Natalia is attached.”

Clint chuckled. “Fair enough. Don’t suppose you have a burner phone in your back pocket?”

“No.” He dug one out of his front pocket. “I keep it here.”

It looked like one of Nat’s. In fact, when he thumbed it open. It was one of Nat’s. One in the rotation of numbers she would have left for Laura. “Why do you have Nat’s burner?”

“She always carried one, but chose to leave it in her locker for the last mission.” Though nothing shifted in his expression, Clint got it. The questions earlier were for confirmation. He’d already figured out Nat thought going after that pair had been a suicide run.

“So you carried it for her?” He eyed him. “For luck?”

Barnes shrugged. “Didn’t think it could hurt.”

“Yeah…I’m going to make a call. Mind giving me a minute?” He didn’t have to ask twice, Barnes checked the door access to the hospital itself, then locked it before he slid over to the suite on the other side of the glass.

_We’ll figure it out._ _Natalia is attached._

“She isn’t the only one.” He punched in the numbers for the burner at the farm, and waited. Laura answered on the second ring.

“Finally…when you take days to call I worry.”

He winced. “Hey Laur…”

“Clint?” The surprise in her voice wasn’t humbling at all. “Sorry. I thought it was Nat finally calling me back.”

Crap. He’d completely forgotten to tell Nat. It seemed months since Azzano, but it had only been days. “My fault, totally. Been…on the move and there hasn’t been a quiet minute.”

Not a lie.

“Well I’m glad you found a minute to have her call Lila.” Just a hint of reproach.

Fuck. He grimaced, and then winced when he would have lifted his hand to rub his face. His shoulder was still ten different kinds of pissed at him. “I’ll confess all to Nat later, trust me, she’ll kick my ass for forgetting to tell her you called.” Then… “I’m sorry, Laura.”

Silence. Then… “Clint.” There was a warning in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Besides kidnapping and torture by crazy Russians, watching his best friend fall apart by inches, running from the law, and missing the hell out of his kids? The words it’s fine were on the tip of his tongue, but what he said was, “It’s been a hell of a week.”

“Are you two safe?” It was a careful question. Not were they uninjured or fine or any of a thousand platitudes, but a single status—one that couldn’t be disassembled easily.

“For now,” he promised.

“Good.” She didn’t disguise the relief in her voice. “I worry about you.”

“I know you do.” For that, he was sorry. “How are you doing?”

“You know how it is…taking the kids to practice, and rehearsals. Lila’s on fire to defend Nat. She got into a fight at school.”

“Another one?” Pride vied with worry.

“Yes, another one. Cooper ended it though.” Despite her exasperated tone, there was affectionate pride in her voice as well.

“Why did he have to get involved?” Coop was older than Lila, and Clint had to sit him down once on not fighting every battle for his sister. Especially against kids her own age, they both needed to learn how to handle themselves.

“Older boy, this time. Older than Coop.” Now Mama Bear was awake. “He said some vile things, and Lila took exception.”

“And our boy put an end to it?” He didn’t really need to ask if Lila was okay, if she wasn’t—he and Laura would have been having an entirely different conversation.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but…Clint he knocked that boy on his ass. Half a foot taller than him and at least twenty pounds heavier, and Coop belted him. Solid right hook.” Well hell, Mama Bear was definitely out in force. “I had to ground him for fighting, but only for the weekend because he did it for Lila.”

Guilt pricked him. His kids had been fighting their own battles while he’d been socked away in some cell. They might never have known what happened to him. It was a deal he’d made with himself a long time before, a commitment and he wasn’t ashamed of it, but it hurt to think they’d have to grow up and fight these battles without him.

“I miss them,” he said abruptly. “I miss you, too.”

She didn’t respond right away, and he shook his head. Pain meds had to be making him loopy to confess that.

“We miss you, too.” The response surprised him, and it really shouldn’t have. “I keep turning on the news, hoping there will be some movement on the Accords, anything that would let you all come home. Let _you_ come home.”

“Don’t know if that’s going to be possible,” he said with a sigh. “At least not through legal channels.” And he wouldn’t lead anyone to their door.

“Then we’ll have to live with the video chats. Can you do one now?”

Yeah, there was no disguising where he was as not a hospital room. “Not yet. Soon, I promise.” He’d find a way.

“Okay, hang on a second…” Then she called for Coop first, and his son was on the phone. Clint’s smile grew as Cooper confessed the whole fight to him, though confess might be too strong a word. He talked about it with pride, because he’d defended someone. More importantly, he’d defended his sister.

By the time Lila got on the phone, Clint’s heart was aching as hard as his cheeks. Course, he also had to promise that Auntie Nat would call soon, too. His little girl definitely had her priorities. By the time the phone floated back to Laura, she said, “We’re going to have to move to the next number now, aren’t we?”

They’d been on the phone for a half hour or more.

“Yeah, but it was worth it. Jump two forward. We’ll do the same.” He had no idea where the rest of the burners were, but he knew the sequence of Laura’s so he’d be able to reach her.

After the call was over, he snapped the flip phone in half. Barnes could take care of the rest when he slipped back in. Until then, Clint leaned his head back and tried to get some sleep and not think about the fact Nate was too young to talk on the phone, or how much Lila and Coop seemed to be growing up in the few months he’d been gone.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Nat's Violet Carsons. He knew why they weren't scarlet. Purple was his favorite color. Violet would have been code for his kids. 

Hell. 

 

Bucky

 

Watching Barton talk to his family reminded Bucky of his own. He had three sisters or he’d had three sisters. All younger than he. All sweet, smart, and funny. Sometimes, he could almost see their faces, but he couldn’t remember their voices. If they’d had burner phones back then, maybe he could have talked to them after he left for the war. As it was, he still wasn’t home from it.

They weren’t little anymore.

Leaving Steve behind had been damn near as hard as leaving his sisters, but he’d been sure they’d be safer. He hadn’t wanted to go to war, but protecting them was the important part. Course Steve found a way to thrust himself into the war anyway. So he could understand the difficulty of Barton’s position.

The man wanted to be with his family, but instead he was out in the cold with them. There had to be something they could do to help him get back there. Natalia would want Barton to be able to see his kids. It wasn’t even a question. She seemed to want everyone to have everything—except her.

It was the one area he couldn’t get a bead on.

What did Natalia want?

The Soldier didn’t know either.

She promised they would all talk after. This didn’t really count as after yet. The mission wasn’t finished.

When Steve emerged, it had been four hours since Bucky had gotten up. Stark was still in his room. The conversation wasn’t going well. He’d only come out long enough to grab food that had been delivered, check on Barton, ask about Natalia, and then disappeared again.

Hair rumpled, Steve rubbed at his face blearily. “Thought you’d get me in a couple of hours.”

Bucky shrugged. “Too many people coming and going.” Nurses. Staff. People. All people he didn’t know. “Barton’s sleeping. Has been for about ninety minutes. He talked to the docs, and they went over his recovery.”

They’d described it the night before and the news hadn’t made Natalia happy. Barton would recover, but he was only human and his recovery would be slower, and require far more effort. They would have to make security adjustments to accommodate him.

But did that mean the chalet? Somewhere else? He’d suggested Wakanda, but Barton hadn’t seemed to thin it was a good idea.

“It’s going to be rough,” Steve acknowledged. He checked the food on the table, then eyed him. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head.

“Hungry?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Don’t tell me everything at once,” Steve grunted, the sarcasm familiar. “Don’t know if I can keep up with you being so wordy.”

He smirked. “Then go back to bed.”

“Up now,” his best friend admitted as he picked out sandwiches, and added some pickles. He took a bite of one before he offered it to Bucky. The fact he’d made the effort meant something. The Soldier trusted Natalia’s word on the food, implicitly. Bucky trusted Steve, so they compromised.

“Thanks,” he managed, then ate the sandwich methodically. He had been hungry, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t ignore.

They ate in silence, while Bucky kept watch over Barton and the doors, and Steve eyed him.

“What’s up, Stevie?” He recognized Steve revving himself up to talk. Despite his natural inclinations to step in it with his mouth, he’d always guarded himself with Bucky. Well to a point. Usually the point being whatever he wanted to do, Bucky might disagree with him on it.

“Trying to figure out what happens next,” Steve admitted. “Clint needs to heal. Nat’s a mess. Tony’s got too much on his plate. And you…”

“…we can’t trust my mind.” That much hadn’t changed.

“I don’t think I’d put it that way.” Not that he was disagreeing. “You’ve been better, at least it seems like it. You’re getting pieces back, and that’s gotta be hard. Not going to try and pretend I can get it…not after what we saw Nat go through.”

Bucky wouldn’t get those memories out of his head anytime soon either. In some ways, she seemed so put together. Yet beneath the surface, the cracks were there. He didn’t think she was broken, but he couldn’t really imagine how she hadn’t. They’d played games with her mind and then it had almost happened again, right in front of him.

Not interfering required the Soldier’s stern strength, but neither he nor Bucky had hesitated when that Smith guy sent her after Leonid and Alexei. The fact they were getting ready to put her in the chair—shooting them had been satisfying. Even if they’d already been dead.

He wanted there to be no questions.

“But I’m still in this with you… ‘til the end of the line, you know that, right?” Steve drew him back to the topic at hand.

“Yeah, Stevie. I know.” He found a small smile for him. “Just wish I had more answers.”

“We’ll find ‘em…all three of us.” He’d finished his sandwich then leaned back in the chair. His gaze wasn’t on Bucky or anything. There were shadows smudging under his eyes, and even with the beard making him look older—he still seemed young and idealistic. Never let it be said Steve Rogers gave up without a fight.

Hell, he didn’t give up with one.

“If you can go back,” Bucky said slowly. “You should.”

“What?”

“If Stark pulls it off, gets you a pardon. You should go back.” There was no way Bucky much less the Soldier would get that opportunity. All he would have to look forward to was a hospital room at best, but more likely an execution. Keeping people like him alive and in cells was a bad idea.

Worse, because without a doubt someone would try to figure out how to use him.

“First, not going anywhere without you.” That was a firm, Captain America’s feet were planted and no one was moving him declaration. “Second, not leaving without her, either.”

And there were a lot more people after her right now than him. A sobering thought.

“Third, we’re a team. So we’ll do this together—you, me, her, Clint, Wanda, Sam…Tony. I know he’s working on ideas and plans, we’re going to have to trust him to handle it and to bring us in when he needs us.”

“I almost cost you that friendship, didn’t I?” They hadn’t talked about that, about Siberia. About what went down between all three of them or how Steve had gone after one friend in defense of another.

“I cost me that friendship,” Steve said, not mincing words. “Cost it because I was too busy looking for something to see who was right in front of me. Now I’m working on fixing that.”

“You always were a stubborn ass.”

“Still am,” his best friend retorted unapologetically. “I’m also not too proud to admit I’ve made mistakes with a lot of people.” The way he was looking, Bucky recognized he was included in the latter.

“You didn’t make mistakes with me,” he told him flatly. “I didn’t tell you about Zola or the experiments. I didn’t tell you when I felt different. Or that I wanted to go home. I didn’t tell you why I didn’t want you there in the war, or that it pissed me off when you showed up.”

If Stevie didn’t want to mince words, then Bucky wouldn’t mince words.

“You let people experiment on you just to go to war, dumbest damn thing ever. You did it, and then you threw yourself into every fight like you were there to die for it. Hoping you got smarter, but now you’re trying to own my choices and you don’t get to do that. So the mistakes you make about you, yeah you can have them. You don’t get mine, too.”

Instead of the fight he expected, Steve almost smiled. “Noted.”

“That said, you pulled my ass out of the fire four times now.” He’d come for him at Azzano. He’d fought for him on the hellicarrier. He’d found him in Bucharest. He’d saved him from Stark. “Maybe you take a step back now and fight next to me instead of in front of me, yeah?”

He nodded slowly, as if making a show of considering it, but he looked far too damn pleased. “I’d like that.”

Then it hit Bucky, he’d just basically agreed to Steve’s they’d do it together decision. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

“No, but sometimes I pay attention.” Steve gave him a gentle shove. “Go get some sleep. She’s been alone in there, and she had a bad dream earlier.”

Bucky frowned. “How bad?”

“Not so bad I couldn’t soothe her right back to sleep, but she was having it and I want her to rest. The bruising looks bad at the moment, but I know it looks worse before it gets better.”

Agreed. Natalia needed the time to heal.

“Go on,” Steve repeated. “I need to talk to Tony, too. Figure out our next steps.”

Bucky nodded, and pushed away from the chair to head back in the bedroom. It was getting on to late afternoon outside, but the closed blinds and dim lighting made it seem a lot later. She hadn’t gotten to sleep until closer to noon than dawn.

He gave his eyes a moment to adjust in the deeper gloom of the room. Though he couldn’t hear Tony through the wall anymore, he still paused to listen for any sounds that didn’t belong. Old habits.

Crossing the room to the bed, he settled on top of the blankets and propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival, just as she hadn’t seemed to clock his leaving earlier. The level of exhaustion to make Natalia unaware of her surroundings was dangerous. He had never been able to sleep like that, except…

Except when they’d been on an op and isolated from the Red Room and everyone else. When it was just the two of them. He could sleep if she had his back. She always had his back in the field. It was one of the things he found himself missing right now. The spill of her hair over the pillow resonated within him. Red hair spilling over a pillow. Little sighs. Frantic hands.

Sweat prickled along the base of his neck and he rolled onto his back, careful not to disturb her. Then he cut a glance sideways. She was curled up on her side, her knees tucked closer to her chest and her arms wrapped around a pillow. Had she been cuddled to Steve like that?

Had she cuddled with him like that?

Fuck.

It was one thing to know he cared. To see the evidence in her memories that his weren’t manufactured or imagined. To hope the stray thoughts over the last few years of a woman had been real. It was entirely another to realize they were one and same.

The silk of her hand cupping his cheek, the way her lips felt as she feathered kisses against his or the heat in her eyes when she straddled him…

_Fuck…_ His whole body went hard at the thought.

“Ty v poryadke?” The softness of her voice cut through the lust hazing his mind and he swallowed.

“Da.” No, he really wasn't okay. He didn’t dare look at her. Didn’t dare see those dark green eyes heavy with sleep or the way her lashes dipped low. The scent of her coupled with the awareness of her being so close was more than enough.

“Vy uvereny?” She didn’t seem surprised to find him there, and he finally cut a look over at her. Her eyes weren’t even fully open, if anything she burrowed her cheek more into the pillow and reached a hand out to him.

Against his better judgment, he clasped her fingers gently, then settled her hand against his chest and held it there. “Sleep, Natalia.”

“Missiya?” The word was mumbled, but her eyes were already closed.

“Nyet. Eto sdelano. Spat.” The mission was done, she didn’t need to worry about.

“Da Soldat,” she whispered, then scooted closer and burrowed against his right side. He lifted his arm for her to tuck her head against him. The feeling sweeping through him threatened to drown him. It was too much and not enough all at once, and he didn’t dare move.

Her breathing deepened, and he knew he should ease her back onto the pillow. She hadn’t truly awoken, and she hadn’t consciously chosen him. But he wanted to hold her, wanted to examine those memories closer and dip his head to breathe in the scent of her hair. He could remember her skin, the touch of her lips, but he couldn’t remember how she tasted.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his head into the pillow and kept his right arm around her shoulders and his left hand covering her hand on his chest.

Maybe for just a little while.


	46. I owe that man a debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has news from the committee, and the gang begins to head in different directions.

Chapter Forty-Six

_I owe that man a debt_

Natasha

 

 

Awareness drifted to the surface in graduating degrees. Awareness of warmth all along one side. Awareness of a comforting embrace. Awareness of the tickle of a scent that seemed to combine sunshine and snow with the soap from the shower. Awareness of a steady, lulling thump beneath her ear. Awareness of cool metal on flesh…

Awareness gave way to alertness, but she didn’t open her eyes. Long standing habits of not betraying her wakefulness kept her breathing even, but she may as well have not bothered.

“Good evening, Natalia,” his sleep rumbled voice sent a delicious current racing across her flesh, and she almost shivered despite the furnace of heat his body put off. All save for the cool metal of his hand, which provided a welcome contrast to the rest of him.

“Hey,” she answered, not willing to pretend possum when he’d already busted her. She still needed to assess her situation. When had she gone to bed? Wait, she hadn’t she’d fallen asleep next to…

Jolting, she lifted her head and glanced around the darkness of the unfamiliar room.

“Barton is fine,” James soothed her, and though he loosened the arm around her shoulder, it drifted to her waist and his hand firmed on the one she had to his chest. “You were exhausted, _zvezda moya._ You pushed yourself too far, and you needed the sleep.”

Little bits of memory reasserted themselves as she tried to process him referring to her as his star. “Steve carried me in here.”

“Yes,” James told her as his fingers trailed against the bare skin between her tank top and pajama bottoms. It was the barest of caresses, and almost as soon as it registered, he moved his hand back to her sweater. She was still in the sweater. Her clothes.

Oh good, no one changed her this time.

“He’s been worried about you. We’ve been trading off—one in here with you, the other with Barton.”

A part of her wanted to lay back down, curl right up against his side and press her cheek to his chest. The rest of her, or maybe just the most awake part of her, screamed bad idea. Wait… “You traded off?”

“Hmm-hmm,” he said, amusement curling in his tone and she peered at him through the gloom and could swear he was smiling. “He cares about both of us, and neither of us wanted you to have to be alone and we both know Barton is your priority.”

Humbling and more than a little disconcerting to have not one man but both read her that clearly.

Then again, she’d hardly been subtle in her desire to get Clint back.

Resisting the urge to settle down, she pushed herself up to sitting tugging her fingers from beneath the cool metal of his left hand as she did. James lifted the arm from her shoulders, but then draped it over her legs when she didn’t move away from him. A hundred thoughts went through her mind as she looked down at his arm, at the thick fingers curving against her knee, and she covered his hand with hers.

“This really isn’t the first time we’ve shared a bed.”

“No,” he said quietly, and she was tragically happy about the fact they were in the dark. Or at least she was mostly, who knew what he could see. “It’s not.”

Tracing her fingers over the back of his hand, she explored the strength there. They’d done this before, too. And as if the thought conjured it, he turned his hand over palm up so she could familiarize herself with the callouses on those fingers all over again. Then as if realizing what she was doing, she stopped abruptly. She needed to get out of this room before she fell too far down the very tempting rabbit hole…

Tangling his fingers with hers, he gazed upward but didn’t try to sit up. If anything, he’d gone so still and seemed intent on being as non-aggressive or threatening as possible. He was containing himself for her.

She wasn’t a little girl and she wasn’t afraid of the dark.

Twisting, she turned around and found the light switch. “Watch your eyes,” she warned him before flipping it on.

The low light cast long shadows around the room, but revealed his face rumpled with sleep, a trace of stubble over his cheeks and the dark hair tousled and thick. He was really quite pretty, even if he might protest the description. There was a wariness in his eyes, an expectation of rejection. It stilled the protest right on her tongue. She couldn’t hurt him that way.

“I wish this was easier,” she finally said, not one given to wistful thoughts.

“I wish for a lot of things,” James said. “Or I used to. I’m a little more pragmatic now.”

It was such a blunt statement she had to smile. “Hard to be a wishful thinker when reality is so far from fantasy as to make it surreal.”

“Pretty much. But any reality that has a dame like you smiling at me like that can’t be all bad.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward into a reflection of what must have been a truly charming, if self-deprecating smile at one point. What would it be like if he had a reason to grin again?

Did people like them really get to do that?

“I’m going to sit up,” he told her, then eased his hand from hers to push himself up until he leaned against the headboard and she faced him sitting cross-legged next to him. Then he extended his hand again, and she slid her palm against his. The connection quieted something, an ache she must have had forever. One she was so used to having, she hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she promised him. She might be wary of what he represented, the forbidden and forgotten past still lying so murky between them. They’d seen just enough to realize the icebergs beneath the water were far deeper than they could have imagined before.

“I’m afraid of me,” he assured her. He nodded to her shoulder, then released her hand to push the sweater aside. The tank top had rolled up, baring the scar on her abdomen. “I did that to you.”

“I know, bye bye bikinis.” She didn’t make excuses for him. Over the last few days, she’d truly begun to see he was both Bucky Barnes, damaged and hurting from decades of neglect, the Soldier, harsh and cool from decades of abuse, and James, the man fusing them both together.

The Soldier had been hers, though.

“I’m sure you look terrible in them.” The damn near perfect echo of Steve right down to the tone, made her smile for real.

“So I’ve heard…”

“You’re really not afraid of me?” A glimmer of hope crept into the doubt in his voice.

“Nope,” she told him, and shook her head. “Fearless, remember.”

He laughed, the abrupt sound rough and rusty, like he hadn’t done it in a long time. “Not sure if that’s fearless or foolish.”

Running her fingers through her hair, she ignored the tangles in her curls, and shrugged. The motion reminded her of her bruises and she rolled her head from side to side. Loosening the stiff muscles.

“They look better, more green than black and blue now.”

“Well, green is a good color on me.” Making light of it was the only way to survive.

“I doubt there’s a color that looks bad on you, _kotyonok_.” Kitten.

The use of the endearments tickled something in the back of her mind. “Did we have pet names? Then?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, his expression thoughtful as he stroked his thumb against the side of her hand. The lazy caress grounding and comforting in one. “I feel like it would have been a risk.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But I don’t know if we were as stealthy as we might have believed.” Ivan’s words taunted her. _If they ever take the Soldier from you, for good. You will run, Natalia. Do you understand me? You will run_

“You kept my secrets from Karpov,” he told her, his expression intent as he studied her. “He used to debrief you in front of me, after every mission. You never revealed any break in programming or protocol.”

“You think there was plenty to report and I didn’t?” A sense of anticipation uncurled in her belly, and she resisted a second shiver ascending her spine at the way his eyes darkened.

“I know how long it takes to kiss you until your mouth bruises.” The sensuous description curled her toes and she had to take a deep breath. “I _know_ you didn’t report me.”

As if drawn by invitation, she dipped her gaze to his lips. They were a little chapped, but pink and gleamed as if he’d moistened them when she hadn’t been paying attention. The suggestion of the roughness of stubble only accented the softness of them. Dragging her gaze up, she zeroed in on the wonder in his eyes. He’d noticed her slip, but he didn’t press forward with the advantage. The heat sweeping over her had nothing to do with the sweater and everything to do with his proximity.

“I hate not knowing all of it,” she admitted. “Like…someone else knows all these intimate things about me, about you…and they took them away.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s coming back…training you. Watching you dance. Admiring the way you had such brilliant control over your body. Hating every single person who laid a finger on you like they owned you. Wanting you to be better. To be faster. To know no one could ever hurt you…” Passion darkened every word. “Watching you go where I couldn’t follow, when they sent you without me. Some of its fragments, some of its full blown memories, but it’s coming back.”

She swallowed. “When I ran…when I left,” she licked her upper lip then sucked it between her teeth. An amateur move for someone with her skills. Concealing her thoughts and emotions was so ingrained she had to consciously open up to let such tells out, and here she was baring them to him before she could stop herself. “When I left the KGB, Russia…all of it. It was because they took you away.”

No surprise flickered across his face.

“No, I mean…Ivan…” She was saying this poorly. “The trigger that Smith was using…”

His expression darkened, until it seemed set in stone. The Soldier stared at her steadily. “What about it?”

“It was how Ivan would manipulate me.” Even the word manipulate tasted sour on her tongue. “He would hum a little tune, a song that he used to play for me when I was very little, and very lonely.” There was no pity left in her for the broken little doll she’d been. No lingering sadness. Her childhood was an ugly barren place. “He used to pay visits to the Red Room, regularly. I never…I never realized it was only for me. I thought he saw all the girls. I’m not even sure when I realized it wasn’t everyone.”

James said nothing, just held her hand as if offering her his strength. Unwilling to refuse, she curled her fingers with his.

“As you can imagine, there weren’t many _fun_ things for us to do, so when Ivan came, we would sit at the piano and he would play.”

He had been grooming her. In hindsight, those moments suddenly in shocking, startling relief thanks to Smith’s bad choice of phrases, she could see just how neatly Ivan boxed her in—his own personal little doll.

“He always thanked me for my cooperation, but it was the music… the song he played. It was…when I heard it, I always relaxed and then the phrase made me suggestive and whatever he told me to do, I did without question because it pleased him.”

“And pleasing him was important.” It wasn’t a question.

A little shrug. “Apparently.”

“Do you know the song?”

“ _Symphonic Entr'acte_ number nineteen from _Sleeping Beauty_ , it refers to Aurora's Sleep.”

“Not one you would likely trip over by accident then,” he said, as if relieved.

“I hate Tchaikovsky. At least now I know why.”

A squeeze of her fingers, a gentle comfort. She wasn’t alone. “You never have to listen to it again.”

“That’s a nice thought…but when Smith told me to remember in Ivan’s voice…I did. I remembered all the times Ivan did that to me. All the commands, all the times he…”

The door opened, the turn of the knob prompting their attention as Steve slipped into the room. He greeted them with a small smile. “Good, you’re both awake.” His gaze dipped to where she still held James’ hand, but neither of them let go. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” she told him, then extended her free hand in invitation. “Come sit with us?”

He folded his arms and shook his head. “Tony needs us all out there. He has news. I was coming in to wake you up.”

Duty called. She squeezed James’ fingers, then let him go as she slid off the bed. Everything was stiff, and she stretched with a grimace and then met Steve’s gaze. He looked tired, and worn. “Long day?”

“Not as long as some recently.” He glanced from her to James. “You two good?”

“We’re fine, Stevie. We were just talking.” James raked his fingers through his hair.

“I just woke up a few minutes ago, I don’t even know how long I slept. So please tell me there is coffee out there.”

“Food, too.” Steve nodded, then he pushed a loose curl behind her ear. “You look better.”

“I think better is relative these days,” she told him with a smile.

“Less black and blue.”

“I thought you liked blue.”

He snorted and James huffed a laugh. “Blue’s not bad, but I’d prefer you suffer from fewer bruises.”

“Then you just might be in the wrong business.” It was the right thing to say. His eyes lightened, and the little worried frown eased. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’ve heard that before.”

“Have you?”

Then Steve had the door open and they both motioned for her to go first. Tony was already in the hospital room with Clint. He looked like hell. She detoured to the coffee, but studied the grave look on his face as she fixed a cup.

“James?”

“I can get it. Go check on Barton,” he told her, and she didn’t need the second invitation. Though she headed straight across the room, she didn’t miss Steve’s quiet question to James.

“Did I interrupt?”

She almost turned to reassure him, but a glance back showed James putting a hand on his shoulder. There was a closeness in their body language that had been missing before. Steve seemed more worried than upset, and whatever James told him seemed to settle him.

They needed to have that conversation, all of them, sooner rather than later no matter how uncomfortable it would make her. Setting it aside, she slipped into the room with Clint and Tony. The former gave her a tired smile, “There she is. Only looking like half-warmed crap.” Oh, he definitely had to be feeling better.

Flipping him off, she smirked. “I still look better than you.”

Tony snorted. “She ain’t lying, though you do know they make combs?”

Giving Tony a similar salute, she eyed him. Between the disheveled hair and dark smudges beneath his eyes, he looked like he’d just come off a bender, but his bloodshot eyes looked far more tired than hungover and he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol around her since he’d found her.

That made his condition all the more worrisome.

Clint patted the bed next to him and she eased up to sit next to him. Then gave him a dark look when he reached for her coffee.

“Wounded man privilege here.”

Rolling her eyes, she surrendered her coffee. “I haven’t even had a sip,” she reminded him.

“That’s how I know you love me,” Clint told her triumphantly.

“I thought it was because I didn’t stab you.” At his raised brows, she shrugged. “I only _actually_ stabbed you once.”

“Point.”

Tony shook his head at both of them, but the lack of smile or verbal response on his part worried her more than his current state of exhaustion. When Clint handed the coffee back, he flicked a look at Tony and lifted his brows.

She nodded. Yeah, she’d definitely noticed. Something was up.

It was _not_ good news.

Steve and James joined them, and James had even brought a cup of coffee for Clint which made him smirk at her until she plucked the cup away and took the first sip and handed him back the half full cup he’d returned to her.

When he stuck his tongue out at her, she retaliated in kind. Steve chuckled, and shook his head. “Children…”

As one, she and Clint flipped him off which just made him grin wider, and even pulled a chuckle out of Tony. That was better. James settled into position with his back to a wall, and an unobstructed view of both sets of doors. Steve shifted to stand between the bed and the door, effectively setting himself as the first line of defense while Tony had command of the chair near the bed.

“Spent most of the day talking to the committee,” he said without preamble. “I’ve got good news, bad news, and news I’m not sure what to do with yet.”

Steeling herself against the worst of it, she tried to gauge Tony’s mood and all she got off him was distinct unhappiness. It was different from the day Ross dropped the Accords on them, he’d just been quiet that day. Quiet, and kind of resigned.

Today he was angry.

Angry, and definitely upset.

“Any preferences?” Tony eyed them, but his gaze settled on her.

“Good news,” she told him. “I think we could all use some.” Especially the guy who’d managed to earn it.

With a nod, Tony focused on Clint. “You can go home, Clint.” Surprise rippled through the room. “You’ll need an ankle monitor for six months, and you’ll likely need to do your rehab at the Compound, but you, Lang, and Wilson are all cleared to return to the States. Same deal, ankle monitor, six months house arrest—Lang can do his in San Francisco to be near his kid, Wilson can go to DC or the compound. I didn’t make arrangements for you and the farm because I didn’t want to reveal anything about the family.”

Clint nodded once. “Thanks man.”

“If you take the deal, I can make arrangements to bring them all in to see you though. We’ll keep it quiet and off the committee’s radar.” He had been busy. “I also reached out to Helen, she’ll make time to come to New York to check on your rehab and see if we can do anything else to speed up the healing.”

Some of the weight lifted off of her, Clint would be safe.

“What about the Accords?” Steve asked, his tone more curious than combative.

“We’re going to work on those. For the terms of the house arrest, you won’t be required to sign them. We revisit the issue when the anklets come off and hopefully by then we have amended Accords. T’Challa’s agreed to join a select group who will be renegotiating them in light of the fact his father was the spearhead for the effort.” Clint being able to see his kids was definitely good news, the rest was not as bad. Tony glanced from Clint to her. “It’s not ideal, but it’s a lot of concessions on their part.”

Then why did he sound even less happy than when he started?

“Thanks Tony,” Clint told him. “For the chance, I mean. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Well it’s not over yet.” Standing, he pushed the chair back and paced. “There’s still a lot of problems…”

“Like the fact Steve, Wanda, and Nat aren’t included in the deal?” Clint didn’t mince words.

Tony paused. “That’s the news I’m not sure what to do with yet.”

Steve lifted his chin. “We know you did your best. Tell us and we can figure out what to do with it.” The men shared a long look that had Nat’s nerves stretch taut. The last time they’d had a stare down anywhere similar had been right before Steve tossed Tony’s pen back at him and walked out in Berlin.

“I wanted the news to be better,” he told Steve. “The committee won’t decide on dispensation for you or for Wanda until you’ve been evaluated and answered questions in person.”

“So they have to turn themselves in and hope they don’t end up somewhere like the Raft?” James folded his arms, his expression unreadable. Even his eyes had gone blank, the Soldier assessing the field.

“The Raft is _not_ happening,” Tony said abruptly with a ferocity that dared any of them to disbelieve him. “The problem is Ross hasn’t been removed fully, he’s still suspended from the Accords committee pending their final findings—but they want to talk to Wanda and they want to talk to Steve. The testimony might help sway them.”

“You don’t sound especially confident,” Steve said, folding his arms in an almost mirror posture of James, and dropping his chin as he considered the offer. “Essentially, we surrender, then testify and hope they either offer us what they are offering Clint and the others or … what?”

“See that’s why I don’t know what to do with this. I wouldn’t agree to you turning yourselves into anyone that wasn’t me. They argued—rightfully—I had a conflict in the matter, and what guarantees can I offer that I won’t just let you go.” Irritation flashed through Tony’s eyes.

“You told them to trust you or shut up.” It wasn’t a guess. Tony had been through a lot of grief on the entire subject. “If they want to hear from them, they have to make accommodations, not just for them but also to assure _you_ of their intentions.”

“Got it in one, Nat.” Tony pointed a finger at her. “They’re debating that little nugget right now. I think they’re worried that I’m going to become rebellious.”

“You sure they’re not concerned you’re already aiding and abetting the fugitives?” James asked.

“Doubtful. The story everyone knows is I’m in build mode, which means I’ve dropped out of sight. That’s not unusual for me.” Tony wasn’t wrong. He’d done the same thing long before there was an Avengers. “This is more related to the latest campaign to undermine me where Ross is concerned. Someone has linked Obadiah to Ross, and now the story is I’m only out for personal revenge. It’s poisoning the well, but only with a few committee members—hence the testimony.”

Glancing from Steve to Tony, then finally to Clint, she asked, “Does anyone think Wanda will go for it?”

The silence drew out, and Tony slumped back into the chair. “She has zero reason to trust me.”

“She’ll trust me,” Clint said. “If you can promise me you’ll keep her out of another shock collar and cell, I’ll get her there if it’ll help.”

“I can get them both out,” Nat said, glancing at Steve. He hadn’t commented again, his jaw tensed and a muscle flexed along his cheek. “What about James, Tony?”

“That’s a non-starter at the moment, but not because of the committee. I’ve got a couple of three star generals who are very interested in clearing Sergeant Barnes. My legal team has it on good authority that there is already a concerted effort to have him protected under the Geneva Convention as a genuine POW, which means—he would be free and clear of all prosecution and allowed to return home as the veteran he is.”

Surprise flickered across Steve’s face but it had nothing on the shock James wore. “I…Stark, you did that?”

“I may have dropped a word or two in an ear of some generals I know from my days of building them their favorite toys. Helps to know which ones are Cap fan boys and which ones are just crazy for anything Howling Commandos.” Despite the boldness of the move, Tony’s smirk never reached his eyes. When his glance cut to her, she understood the bad news.

Clint had covered her hand with his. He’d caught it too.

“So until that’s in the clear, I just…”

“Lay low. Chalet or I’ve got an island; get you some fun in the sun. Take it easy. Rest. Then when everything is in place, we bring you home to a hero’s welcome.” It sounded great, but Tony was miserable.

“Tony,” Steve pushed forward and unfolded his arms. “You do not have to do this to yourself for either of us.”

“What?” Tony frowned, then glanced at James before sweeping back to Steve. “I don’t mind putting him up, I’m already doing it.”

“Steve,” Nat reached for his arm. “Tony’s not upset about helping either of you. Your position isn’t ideal at the moment, but James’ is pretty good.” Meeting Tony’s gaze, she found a smile. “You’ve done amazing, and I know you’ve been killing yourself to get this done. It’s going to be all right.”

“Nat…”

“Wait…” James straightened, and Steve stiffened all at once. “The bad news is Natalia?”

“No one will talk deal for Nat. Not even entertain the subject.” The intensity rolled off him in waves. “I’m not giving up, but I’ve got to get Ross out of there. I know he’s sabotaging every effort and then it pulls away from the rest.”

“Then we get rid of Ross,” she said with a shrug. “It—”

“I’m not going without Natalia.” James stated, period end of subject.

“Yes you are,” Nat told him, even as Steve said, “You have to.”

Then Steve added, “I’ll testify, I’ll do what I can, but I won’t stay if Nat’s left out of any negotiations.”

Clint’s sigh echoed the one in her head and Tony’s shoulders slumped.

“Enough.” Natasha shoved off the bed and turned to face all of them. She started with Clint, pointing a finger at him. Her partner hadn’t accepted the offer yet, she’d heard the unspoken no. “Enough. Clint’s going home because he needs to recover and see his kids. It’s the best plan for you right now. The safest one. It also puts you in a position to help negotiate on the Accords.”

He opened his mouth a moment as though to argue, then snapped it shut. Natasha didn’t smirk, but she did nod.

“Exactly. Tony’s done a lot of the heavy lifting, and the point of a team is we back each other.” Then she switched her attention to James’ defiant expression. Those cool eyes didn’t look remotely impressed. “You deserve to be welcomed home, and to be free. You sit out, you rest, and you get better—heal. Then go home where you no longer have to run or hide or worry about losing you ever again.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it was so much better than what they faced _right now_.

“Not without you,” James told her.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve taken care of myself for years.” She held up a hand when Clint opened his mouth. “No, shush. Years, Clint. Years before you were sent to bag me and made the offer. I didn’t always make the best decisions, but I also didn’t give a damn about anyone then. I had a skill set, and I didn’t care who paid me or who they wanted me to use it on. That’s changed. But I will be just fine.”

James seemed unconvinced, but he wasn’t arguing. Then again, they were a lot alike. He’d do whatever he damn well chose.

“And if you’re safe Steve can concentrate on what he needs to do to get the Avengers back together.” That had an effect or at least it got him thinking.

Finally, she faced Steve and he just shook his head, “Nat… it has to be all of us.”

“No it doesn’t.” Save her from stubborn, pig-headed, overbearingly need to fix everything men. It was what made them so infuriating and what made them heroes. “The world needs the Avengers. The Avengers need you. Tony needs you. Wanda, Vision, Sam…Lang, Rhodey. Bruce if he _ever_ comes back. Thor. Steve—you were team lead for a reason. People respect you. They look at you and they see a hero. They need to see you doing this, they need a reason to believe in the Avengers, to see the team as a whole, strong and standing up front. Tony’s done an amazing thing, now you have to do your part.”

“I thought we were done with the waiting and the excuses.” The hurt in those eyes, the resistance. He did not want to do this.

“We have what we have, when we have it. This is the next step. It’s not the last one, there’s a step after that, and a step after that…”

“We’re not abandoning her Steve,” Tony finally said, his voice quiet and serious. “Not even for an instant. I’m not giving up. But we’re hitting a wall. They’ve made her the poster child for every damn thing we’ve done wrong. All of us. That’s on us.”

Tipping his head back, Steve blew out a breath. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I,” Clint agreed. “But Nat’s right—and so is Tony. I don’t want to go be _safe_ while she’s out here. But if we can help clear the way, we get her back.”

“She can always stay with me,” James offered. “I can’t go back right away, that’s what you said, right? Steve can’t go back yet either, until you make the arrangements.”

Or she could just disappear. That would solve all of this. She could play the villain. Be the one to shoulder the blame if it put the team back together again, where they could have their lives and be able to help people.

“Stop,” Tony said, glaring at her.

“Stop what?”

“Stop planning to vanish,” Clint’s tone was icy.

James just stared at her implacably, but Steve cleared his throat, “Tony? What we talked about earlier? We clear to proceed?”

What the hell?

“Yep, I’m good here for the next couple of days until I lock down transport for Barton. Then I can meet you all there before I head to the states.”

“Meet who all where?”

“We’re going back to the chalet,” Steve told her. “Go grab your stuff. Buck, you too.”

“Wait… what?”

“It’s after,” Steve reminded her. “And we all need the break.” He looked at Clint. “You good?”

“Just take care of her and I’ll be fine.”

Nat swung a look at each of them, even Tony and he shrugged. “Sorry Red, I’m with Rogers on this one. You’re most likely to bolt right now fresh off this mission and you need to decompress. If you really don’t want to go to the chalet, we can figure out somewhere else.”

The quiet assurance didn’t quite reach his eyes. No, those were mired in guilt. Fuck. Abandoning her reticence, she circled the bed and wrapped her arms around Tony before he could pull away. His folded around her as he jerked in surprise. “I’m really sorry, Red,” he murmured against her ear.

“Don’t you dare,” she told him firmly. “I meant it when I said it was going to be all right. We’ll figure this out… all of us. You’ve been carrying the ball, Tony. We’ll help.”

Running would mean leaving him with that guilt, and Clint with worry, and Steve in pain and…yeah she couldn’t think of the abandonment issues James already suffered from.

Pulling back, she met Tony’s rueful gaze. “It’s not your fault.”

“I feel like I put you in this position…I basically did nothing when Ross started the witch hunt, if I’d said something…”

“Tony…it was an insane situation. I let you down. You were right to be upset. I broke the Accords. That’s the one thing all of you are forgetting,” she told him, then she turned to look at the others. “I signed them. You three didn’t. I broke them when I made my choice. I knew what I was doing and I was willfully disobedient. They’re right to hold me accountable. At the end of the day, I did it. It was me.”

“Not giving up,” Tony told her, but some of the shadows lingered in his eyes. “I’m going to bring you home. All of you.”

Tony wasn’t going to give up, no matter what it cost him and that wasn’t right either. He might have taken up the burden, but it wasn’t all his to bear.

 

An hour later, she leaned against the side of Clint’s bed, mutiny in her blood. “You _need_ to do this,” she reminded him.

“Don’t tell me what I need, Tash.” Stubbornness tightened his jaw.

“Pfft, I’ll tell you every day if I have to. You have a chance to go home, and to see your kids…to see Laura.” If she hadn’t been watching for it, she would have missed the flicker of his eye lid. “You talked to Laura.” It wasn’t a question.

“I checked on them, yeah.” But there guilt in his eyes. “This means leaving you out here alone…”

“I’m really not alone,” she muttered, jerking her thumb toward the glass wall at her back separating them from the others. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed…”

“Oh I noticed. I noticed you’re going to have a problem if you don’t choose.”

She shrugged. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. You miss your kids and you miss her. I know you said it won’t work out or maybe the divorce was for the best, but have you ever tried to just get to know her again? Laura’s pretty awesome.”

Clint tweaked her nose, squeezing it between his index and middle fingers. She’d probably break someone else’s hand for the act, but with him she just smirked. “You let me worry about my marriage or lack thereof, and you worry about you.” Then his expression went serious. “I want regular check ins from you. None of this ignoring me for weeks. Regular. Fucking. Check. Ins. Or I’m leaving New York, deal or no damn deal, and coming for you. Clear?”

“Crystal. I want you to focus on your rehab, you do what all the physical thugs require. You spend time with your kids. Buy Laura some flowers—tell her your truth. Tell her what happened.”

“Nat…”

“No…listen. Just think about it. Secrets is why we all got here. If she matters to you as much as I think she does, everything else is just noise—tell her the truth. Let her decide.”

His eyes steadied her. “You going to tell them your truth?”

“Do I even know what my truth is?” It was an evasion and they both recognized it. The problem with truth was you had to know what it was. Her life was built on a stack of lies, some so deep, they’d become indistinguishable from truth.

When he spread his good arm, she leaned into him. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and filled her lungs with him.

“I’m always here for you,” he reminded her. “Never forget that.”

“Right back at you,” she affirmed.

An hour later, Nat had said goodbye to Clint. It was harder than she expected. She didn’t want to leave him, no matter how she encouraged the decision. She got the sense he didn’t want her to go either. She considered calling him on it, but read the request in his eyes for her to cooperate.

Her goodbye with Tony was far briefer. He reminded her he’d see her in a couple of days, and promised to see them in a couple of days. He’d let them know as soon as Clint was safe at the compound. Vision was on his way to escort him in. Then they’d reach out to Lang and Sam. The committee wanted it a done deal before anything was announced.

 

 

Once aboard the quinjet, though, Nat stared at the facility while she warmed the engines. It all seemed so rushed…she hadn’t really slowed down since London or maybe it was East Africa before that or maybe Virgin Islands.

No, truth be told, she hadn’t stopped since she’d pulled Tony out of Siberia. The last couple of weeks had been an anomaly, getting the band back together again—some of them anyway. Now it was over, and it was time for everyone to go.

Except now she was going to be alone with Steve and James, with no one else to interrupt and they had to talk.

Maybe she should have taken Tony up on his private island, just run away and pretend to be someone else.

Steve leaned on the back of her seat. “You okay?”

“Fine…just wasn’t expecting to say goodbye so soon.” She resumed the flight check. The other reason they had to go was she was definitely still a fugitive and while Steve and James were technically, her presence would complicate things for everyone.

And Steve had taken the initiative. No more waiting, and he’d made sure to make the time for them. James came to stand next to Steve as she activated the jets and rose into the air.

“You’ll see Barton again,” James assured her. “Stark is coming to the chalet soon, too.”

Yeah, she believed it. But they needed to seal the deal with the committee. They needed to make the Avengers a reality again, and heal the rifts. The flight back was relatively quiet. James settled into the co-pilot’s chair and brooded. Like James, Steve seemed lost in his own thoughts, but he didn’t leave her just leaned against the chair and watched the flight path. It was kind of nice.

“I’m tempted to reach out to Sam,” Steve said quietly. “Should I? Or should I wait?”

“Wait,” Nat said, trusting the instinct that said to hold the line. “Let Clint get there, then he can be the proof they need to trust it.”

“But you might need to talk to him Stevie,” James said after a while. “He’s not going to jump without you telling him it’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

“C’mon Steve, use your words,” she cajoled him. They were about fifteen minutes from the chalet. As tired as she’d been, she was wired now. Nervous energy vibrating through her—and lists of things to do jotting themselves down: clean her weapons, sharpen her knives, do an inventory of what needed to be replaced, clean her tact suit, change into her own clothes…

“I don’t know what to think. It sounds good, in theory. Rework the Accords, get everyone home, clear Bucky—these are all ideal.”

“But?” she prompted him. From the corner of her eye, she caught the way James studied Steve.

“But…it’s hard to believe they are going to bend so quickly. What if we all do this and in six months, the Accords don’t change and we’re right back where we started?”

“It’s a risk,” Natasha admitted. “There’s always risk. We faced it on every single op we ran. There’s risk in what we do. This isn’t any different. But I know it’s more important for the team to stay together and that if everyone works together—the Avengers are unbeatable.”

There was an inherent arrogance in that statement.

“But if we lose? If it goes wrong?” She could own this part. “Then instead of fighting, the team needs to work together.” More than anything…they needed to work together.

Her mind flashed to the funeral. To telling Steve she didn’t want him to be alone. To the discussions at the compound and the way they’d dissolved when Steve had to go. The ticking time bomb of hard feelings lying like depth charges beneath the surface.

“I don’t want to make the wrong call,” Steve said. “Not again.”

“No one does.” Not Tony. Not Steve. Not her. “And maybe the best we can do right now is to start over. Rebuild the Avengers by facing what we did wrong, and not letting it hamstring the future.”

“Peggy said that,” Steve admitted, affection tangling with grief. It hadn’t been that long since the funeral either. They never really got a break. Any of them. “Right before everything went to hell with SHIELD. Said…I’d saved the world, and that they’d mucked it up again. That the world has changed and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over.”

“Well I’d say that’s good advice based on the source alone.”

“Yeah,” he laughed mirthlessly. “Pierce said basically the same thing, though. Despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down.”

“There’s a difference in that advice,” Natasha considered as she adjusted their vector. It was snowing again, not heavy but there and they were descending toward a picturesque, snow-capped chalet. Odd how fast the place had become a little like a home.

Or maybe it was just the fact they’d all been there together.

“True.”

Then she’d touched down and settled the quinjet under cover, powering down the engines and checking the reserves. The fact Tony equipped their jets with arc reactor technology meant they had thousands of flight hours ahead of them before they ever had to worry about fuel. They ran clean, didn’t burn hot, and could remain in stealth mode indefinitely.

James and Steve waited until she’d completed the last switch before they started gathering stuff. She went to her locker, emptied the weapons out, and the suit. Then she looked at the file boxes still stacked inside and the wallet, and passport she’d confiscated from Smith.

Smith. There was a loose thread she still needed to pull. In the past twenty-four hours she’d managed to put him out of her mind.

“It’ll be there,” Steve said, taking her bag and shouldering it with his own. “You need anything else?”

Tugging the items out, she tapped Steve to turn, then slid them into the outer pocket of her bag and zipped it closed. Yes, they’d come early for a purpose, but she didn’t want to lose track of the goal there.

“That’s everything.” They shut down the internal lights, and stepped off the jet, and sealed the hatch behind them. The snow wasn’t deep, and it crunched under their feet as they made their way to the front doors. Friday unlocked and opened the door for them, and then by quiet consensus, they split up. Nat reclaimed her bag from Steve and carried it all up to her room.

They reconvened in the kitchen after showers, and a change of clothes. She preferred her own things to the borrowed hospital items. Steve already had food cooking when she entered, and her stomach growled at the smell of eggs and bacon. He cast her a quick smile. The dampness darkened the blond of his hair, and he’d trimmed the beard.

It was a good look. Particularly since he’d changed into a dark blue t-shirt that looked painted on, and a pair of sweats that emphasized his ass.

Not that she was staring at his butt.

Nope.

“You know, that beard really suits you.” She opened the freezer, and plucked out the bottle of vodka she’d hidden in there when they’d arrived. Bottle in hand, she pulled glasses out of the cabinet and set them out before hoisting herself onto the counter.

“Thanks.” Steve flashed another grin. “Nat—I meant what I said about talking.” The last he added with a nod to the vodka.

“I know, and I told you we would. But I need a drink…or three…and after the last few days, I deserve it.” Not something she would always claim, but right now? Oh yeah—especially if the three of them were about to get down to some soul baring truths.

“But you’re fearless, Natalia,” James pointed out as he padded into the kitchen. He’d changed into sweats, and a tank top that stretched over the chiseled chest and left his arm on display. His arm…and his shoulder join and all the scars they’d created when they’d attached the metal to his body.

The moisture fled from her mouth, and she stared at him probably a beat longer than necessary. Long enough for him to hesitate mid-step. He’d also shaved, and brushed his damp hair away from his face. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine, James,” she assured him, happy he wasn’t hiding the shoulder as he had been. “And I an fearless when it comes to combat, I’ve even jumped out of a plane with Captain Crazy sans parachute if you’ll recall.”

Steve snorted a laugh as he started plating the scrambled eggs for each of them, her portion about a third smaller than both of theirs. “You weren’t thrilled about it.”

“Admitting something is nuts is a great deal different than being afraid of it.” Then because she didn’t want to dance for too long, she poured herself a measure of the vodka. “Take the three of us for example—we’re all damaged in our own ways. Raw. Tender. Bruised. Hell…I just found out that everything special about me probably did come from a bottle, a couple of them. So if I want to lubricate the wheels to ease our way into this…then I’m going to.”

James had snagged the toast and set it on the plates while Steve loaded then with bacon, but after her comment, they both pivoted to look at her.

“Nat…everything special about you most certainly didn’t come from a bottle.” Steve shook his head, the heat in his eyes pinning her in place. “I don’t care how you were—conceived. Whether they gestated you in some tube or if your mom volunteered for the job doesn’t mean a damn thing to who _you_ are.”

“You are far more than them,” James told her, his voice cooler than Steve’s but no less vehement. “You are amazing.”

The confidence made her stomach quiver, and she had to struggle against the kneejerk reaction to defuse and distance herself. A shot of the vodka chased the ice slicking her insides. Exposure could reveal weakness and weakness could get her killed. That was never not going to be her thought, but she had to push past it for the moment.

The two men standing in front of her deserved that much. They deserved some answers. Even if she had no idea what those answers would be. The Red Room never prepared her for friendships much less love. _Love is for children…_

“Natalia?”

She blinked open her eyes, having not realized she closed them or the fact they’d gotten closer. Steve held out a plate to her and she summoned a smile. “Sorry, some habits are really hard to let go of.”

They settled their plates on either side of her to eat, staying close rather than giving her the distance of moving over to the island or table.

“I know,” Steve assured her and bumped her leg lightly. “But I’m not going to let you fall under…not alone.” Then Steve looked past her to James. “Not either of you.”

Though she’d said yes to the food, she barely ate any. The bacon crumbled on her tongue, and was too salty. The eggs too dry, despite being fluffy and each swallow sat like lead in her stomach. Finally, she just set it aside and nibbled on some toast. Honestly, she’d rather just drink than eat.

“Not hungry?” Though he tried to disguise the concern, Steve couldn’t hide it totally.

She shook her head and didn’t try to explain it. Though she’d promised Clint to not duck away from all of this, a part of her was seriously wondering why she hadn’t found an excuse to just go. They all had a real chance, and the longer she lingered, the harder it would be to disengage.

“When you came into the bedroom earlier…” At her words, James fixed a stare on her—all laser focused intensity. She glanced from Steve to James, then back to Steve. They might want to relocate so she could face them at the same time, but for now she plunged ahead. “I was telling James about Ivan…about the trigger and the song Smith used when he imitated his voice.”

A slow nod from each of them, then she recounted the part about the music and how Ivan had conditioned her. Fuck, it was unnerving to see it all so clearly and without the blur of childish filter. On some level…she had loved Ivan and he’d used it. Used her affection and need to please him to manipulate her into surrendering a huge piece of herself and he’d held onto it for decades past his death.

Humbling as hell to realize just how much she’d given him. Love really was for children.

“Ironic in its own way that Loki was so right,” she could admit it. “It was the basest of sentimentality. It was how Ivan wheedled his way inside, and my mind must have been his playground.” Pouring herself another drink, she shook off those cobwebs. “But the point I was trying to get to—the piece I remembered. Ivan knew about James.”

The man in question startled. “What?” His expression all but evaporated and his eyes went to ice. “What did he do?”

“Easy, Soldier,” she murmured and touched his arm. The chill in his eyes warmed and emotion crept back into his face. “He didn’t hurt me—well, he didn’t hurt me then. He warned me. And he…” She withdrew the contact to reclaim her glass, then touched her tongue to her teeth, gliding against the roughness before continuing. “Ironically, he planted a command, deep enough I didn’t even remember it was one. It’s almost embarrassing…”

“Nat.” Steve rested a hand on her thigh, warmth spreading out from his palm as he grounded her, reminded her she was here and now and not then.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Really—it’s a great thing to know. Smith telling me to remember helped me break through a lot. Let me smash his face in.”

“That was a really beautiful move,” James admired.

“It was,” Steve added. “You never fail to prove how graceful you are.”

“It was satisfying and that’s enough.” And they were sliding off topic. “Guys, this is going to go a lot faster if you don’t try to comfort me through every ugly little part.”

“Too bad,” Steve retaliated and James shrugged. “We’re not going to let you bad mouth yourself. No one gets to talk about you that way, not even you. By the same token, you’re amazing and should hear that often.”

“Stevie’s right,” James added, a genuine smile spreading his mouth wide. “You’re everything, Natalia. Even if you don’t believe it—even if they beat it out of us, the need to acknowledge we’re worth it.” The fact he could align himself so neatly there silenced her objection. “I know what being nothing feels like. You are not nothing. You will _never_ be nothing.”

“You’re a good man,” she reminded him. “You have never been what they wanted you to be.”

“I’m not,” he told her seriously. “Not even before. I was reckless, arrogant, and more than a little careless with people. But you know I’m not a good man, and you accept me anyway. You accepted me even when I was barely a man at all.”

Her stomach clenched, because she had seen _him_ , she’d seen something in the Soldier and she’d fought for him, the only way she knew how.

“You both are,” Steve emphasized. Then he plucked the glass from her hand and passed it to James. “Grab the lady’s bottle and the glasses, Buck.” And before she realized his intentions, he’d scooped her right off the counter. “We’re going to sit somewhere more comfortable.”

“Got it.” James was right behind them as Steve carried her up the stairs to their suite.

“You’re getting really pushy, Rogers,” she warned him.

“Suck it up, Romanoff,” he returned with a firm smile.

With a laugh, she met James’ gaze over his shoulder and the other man merely shrugged. “He’s not wrong, kotyonok.”

“Great, you’re ganging up on me.” Which was a lot more thrilling than she should be admitting to, in fact, she was fast losing control of the whole situation and she needed to take it back. Needed to…

“You can handle it,” Steve told her dryly, and then slipped past the still broken door. They all paused to look at it for a minute, and a laugh escaped her. Finally Steve said, “It’s fine. We’re the only three here.”

“Uh huh,” she murmured, trying to smother her chuckle. It at least distracted her from how easily Steve carried her or the fact that between the pair of them they were dwarfing her and while it should make her wary—she knew how to take them down, knew the weak points, knew if she dug her thumb into the pressure point on his neck she’d… No. Shutting off the progression of ways she could harm or kill them, she focused on the present.

They were alone.

Just the three of them and it was dangerous enough without bringing a physical fight into it.

But they weren’t wholly alone…

Steve settled her onto the sofa, and they bracketed her, one on either side. Slipping out from between them, she sat on the coffee table and ignored their looks of reproach. Tipping her head back, she eyed the ceiling, “Friday, please institute my privacy protocols and extend them to the whole suite, and the hall beyond. Voice activated mode only. No recordings.”

“Please confirm, Ms. Romanoff as you are in Captain Rogers’ suite and Boss had specific parameters for the monitoring of Sergeant Barnes.”

“Confirmed.”

“Deactivating monitors, privacy protocols locked to your voice command.”

“Amend voice activation to include Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers if they need to get your attention, Friday.”

“Amended. Good evening, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Good night, Friday—look after Tony, yeah?”

“Boss said he can look after himself, and that if the three of you damage any more walls, you have to fix it yourselves.”

Nat laughed, and then looked over at the pair as they stared at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, smiling as he leaned back. But as quickly as the smile came, it left as he sobered. “You were saying downstairs about Ivan?”

Propping her bare feet against the edge of the sofa, she reclaimed her glass. “Ivan knew, at least enough to know James—the Soldier—mattered to me. Enough to make the command compelling, or at least enough to be a suitable trigger.” The last part was speculation on her part, but it felt right in the saying. “We know Karpov was interested in me,” she said, trusting that they had seen the memory she was talking about. “Even Madame warned about it, when I was assigned to work with the Soldier in the first place.”

Nods from both of them.

“The Soldier and I were in Paris…it was…the sixties I think. The year is kind of fuzzy. We had a target, and I’d gotten the information on how he was moving, so we could take him out while he was in transpo,” she spoke slowly because some of it was still very blurry, like a picture she knew the parts of but too out of focus to see distinctly. “I’d left the hotel…well I’d left the hotel after getting the info and I knew the Soldier was above, probably a roof…watching. He was watching my back, and Ivan was there. Which broke all kinds of protocol, but he had me walk with him. I trusted the Soldier to follow, and as we walked, Ivan hummed the notes and then said the code phrase. Then he told me that Karpov had plans for me…plans to make me the Winter Widow.” Her mouth twisted, and she shook her head nearly missing the twin looks of horror creeping into Steve and James’ eyes. “That had apparently been his plan for years, and Ivan had been blocking it, but…he felt like he was being put into a corner.”

She tossed back the full measure of the vodka because the next part stung.

“I’d been through conditioning quite a bit by then…” At Steve’s frown, she added, “The chair. Ivan knew Karpov was putting me in the chair and he’d fought against it, but it kept happening. I’d lose myself…and I didn’t remember all of it. There were words, code phrases.” She flicked a look to James and he’d paled. “I think it was harder to get those to stick with me, but they were trying. It was harder because the Soldier was there after…the Soldier would pull me back to myself.”

Blowing out a breath, she poured vodka into each of the three glasses, then handed one to each of them before claiming her own. They took them, James threw the whole measure back in one swallow and handed the glass back, but Steve held onto his.

“Ivan said they’d paired me with the Soldier to soothe him, and to act as another control.” It was a nauseating thought. “But the ultimate plan was to retask me as the Winter Widow, to put the Soldier on ice and I would take his place. If necessary, they would use the Soldier to control me as I had been used to control him.”

She’d controlled James. Fuck, she was the tool they’d used against him.

“Which means Karpov was at least aware on some level that our relationship had deepened. Ultimately, Ivan told me if they ever took you from me for good,” she said slowly, the confusing tangle of emotions snagging at the words. “If they took you I had to run. Run away from them, find him if I could, but to go. Then he told me to forget until I needed to remember.”

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

“At some point they came for you and I ran.” A little laugh. “I always thought I chose to go, that somehow…I had broken my conditioning and cut ties, but it was just another order. Another task they gave me. Even my freedom existed only under the controls he set into place.”

_You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers._

“Told you,” she said to Steve, her smile bitter on her lips. “I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, I really can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“You didn’t go to Ivan,” Steve said locking his gaze on her. “You didn’t go to Ivan. He said for you to find him…Ivan died when?”

“1991.”

“And you left?”

She opened her mouth…then closed it again. “’84…but that doesn’t feel right.”

“How long were you on your own before Clint came for you?” James asked, his troubled expression a direct contrast the Soldier’s control.

“Ten…maybe fifteen years. I wasn’t really tracking it then. I’d—do jobs, and then spend time hunting down people from the Red Room.” At Steve’s raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “It was a hobby. But I found Madame eventually—she was old, but not elderly. I killed her. That made me feel better for a while. But I was…I had no place in the world. They wanted to make me nothing, and I had no place. So I drifted. My training made me stay sharp, I was always training. Even when I drank myself into oblivion, I would get up and run the next day. I would tackle the next job, the next assignment, and do it all over again. It all bled together.” She’d been lost. Utterly lost and hadn’t even realized it. “I think that’s why I was ready to die when Clint came.”

A hand snagged hers, and Steve tugged her off the table and right to him. She folded, letting him wrap his arms around her and she buried her face against his chest. Hiding wasn’t in her nature, but fuck if it didn’t feel good to let him shield her for the moment.

A second set of arms came around her, and she started when she realized James was hugging her back.

“I’m really glad you didn’t die,” Steve whispered against her hair.

“Me, too.” James admitted, and both of their arms tightened. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye before she could blink it back. Then a shudder went through her.

“I don’t know where this leaves us,” she murmured, trusting them to hear her even if they were kind of smothering her. She cared about both of them—she cared about all of them. But love was for children and their world had far more issues than romantic woes—she’d always avoided romantic entanglements and she had to wonder if James was why.

If that was the case—where did it leave Steve?

“We owe Clint,” Steve said quietly and James murmured in agreement. Squirming a little, she got them to loosen up and lean back. Neither let her go, even if they gave her room to breathe. “We do,” he repeated to her. “He made a call that let us find you…let Bucky find you again and let me meet you.”

It could have gone the other way…and they would never have known.

Glancing from one to the other, she blew out a breath. “We still have more questions than answers.”

“True,” Steve said, then looked at James. They did that wordless communication thing she and Clint could, but she couldn’t quite interpret what passed between them. It served to remind her just what these two men were to each other, and she couldn’t get between them. Maybe that was for the best. They both had a real chance at lives now, lives no longer hampered by interference, control, and grief.

All she had to do was get out of the way…and make it happen.

The thought clung to her, the committee wouldn’t let what she’d done go. Her crime. Her choice.

She was in the way, not just for them but for the Avengers.

“Nat?” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking about?”

“The future,” she told him, and it was true enough to cover her omission.

James wrapped a curl around his finger and tugged it. “What were you really thinking about?”

“I was thinking about the future,” she told him firmly. “And I was thinking I’m glad you two got each other back, after all of it.”

She’d told Steve she could help him with the waiting problem. But she hadn’t said how she could help him, and there was a stab of guilt because to help them she might have to hurt them.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt either of them.

Hadn’t they all been hurt enough?

“Uh huh.” Doubt echoed in those two syllables, but he squeezed her gently, a reminder that he was still there. James’s hand was still flat and cool against her spine. There was something steadying about that metal hand. Something comforting and maybe it was all muscle memory, but it was still there.

“We need to lay this out,” Steve said finally, and a small voice inside of her lifted its fist with a yes. He wasn’t shying away from what he wanted anymore. “What I want, what he wants—and what you want. All of our cards on the table.”

“And if I don’t know what I want?” It was a hedge, because she did know. But it was far too selfish a thing to ask for when they could have so much more.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” James said. “You told the Soldier to find James Buchanan Barnes.”

“I remember.” The Soldier standing there, so cold and remote and yet needing her. He _needed_ her to point in him a direction. The power he’d surrendered to her had been breathtaking and she so totally did not deserve that level of trust.

They’d taken him and she’d left.

She’d abandoned him.

“Have you ever found Natalia Alianova Romanova? Or Natasha Romanoff?”

 


	47. We got some hitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Nat, and Bucky open the door to the future, even as the turbulent present threatens to pull them apart.

Chapter Forty-Seven

_We got some hitters_

Steve

 

The question caught Natasha off guard, sliding beneath the mask she’d donned and leaving her frowning. Steve had to admit, the minute Bucky asked—he had the same question. But it went a step further.

“Or have you ever asked yourself who do you want to be?” Because wasn’t that she’d asked him. “You asked me what I wanted you to be. Who do you want to be?”

She shifted her weight and he balanced her against his thigh before easing her to sit between them. Bucky adjusted his position, letting her lean back so Steve and he could turn, facing her. For a moment, her gaze went to the table and Steve rested a hand on her leg.

When she met his gaze he shook his head a little. He didn’t want her to move. No more distance, she kept trying to reestablish it, to put those barriers back up and none of this would work if she succeeded.

Folding her arms, she tipped her head back against the sofa and sighed. “It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is,” he told her. “You’re not all things to all people…but who are you to you?”

Those green eyes sparked, and for the first time since they’d left the facility in Russia, animation flickered through them. Challenge. And the concern fisting in his heart since he’d seen her dragged into that dungeon with that blank look, eased.

“You know what Rogers…”

There she was. There was his Natasha. The possessive fit. Even if she was Bucky’s Natalia, she was _his_ Natasha. “What is it you said…the truth isn’t all things to all people all the time and neither are you. Who do you want to be?”

She lasted about ten seconds before she pushed off the sofa and hopped over the table. Bucky’s gaze tracked her, but he didn’t follow nor did Steve. If anything, he and Buck seemed to be on the same page where she was concerned. He wanted to discover what they’d been and Steve wanted to know what they could be. And if that meant there was a chance her feelings would shift as they dug deeper, he had to accept it—but it didn’t mean he would just let her go without doing everything to make sure _she_ was all right.

“What are you two doing?” Now she faced them, suspicion deepening the green in her eyes. It would be easier on his heart if she still didn’t have so many bruises, their presence urged him to ease back and let her rest.

“We’re talking Natalia,” Bucky told her. “What we _said_ we would do.” The combative tone surprised him, and Steve jerked his gaze toward him. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Buck…” He cautioned him, but Bucky shook his head and pushed off the sofa.

“No, Steve. She’s rolling through a dozen different ways to get out of this situation.” His eyes had narrowed, focusing on her. “She doesn’t want to answer the questions, and we’re not letting up or letting her go, so now she deflects. When that fails, we’re on what now? Flip the conversation, start a fight?”

The animation erased and her expression went cold. No, this was not the direction he’d wanted this to go. “Ease back, Buck. We’re not attacking her.”

“No, we’re not,” Bucky agreed, and his tone catapulted Steve back to an alley in Brooklyn. He’d just pulled a guy off Steve, and kicked him in the ass as he sent him on his way. Then he’d pinned a look on Steve as he dusted him off. _“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.”_

_“I had him on the ropes.” Didn’t matter that he was bleeding, and bruised and it would be hard to move the next day. The guy had been a jerk. Then Bucky picked up the enlistment form off the ground._

_The disappointment verging on irritation flashed in his eyes. “How many times is this? Oh—you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?”_

Steve had never been sure what irked Bucky more—the fight, the form, or Jersey.

Natasha met Bucky’s stare and the two of them just glared at each other—without glaring. It was the least heated stare off he’d ever witnessed and yet it was as if a powder magazine filled in all the space and it only required a single match.

“Stop running, Natalia.” Bucky told her. “Stop running.”

“I’m not running.” Insult curled her lip. “Tell you what Soldier, lock down what’s going on in your head before you start challenging what’s in mine.”

A smirk twisted on Bucky’s face. “I’m damaged. What’s your excuse?”

“And that’s _enough.”_ Steve sliced a hand between them, jerking their attention to him. “I just said we’re not attacking. What the hell are _you_ doing?” His glare collided with Bucky’s and the other man shot a look to Nat before shaking his head.

“Easy isn’t going to make this happen for us.” He backed off a step and raked a hand through his hair. “So fine, you want to know what I want? I should want back the life they took from me, but I’m not going to get it. Truthfully, I don’t really want it. I’d never have met you in that life. So, I want Natalia Romanova again, I want that woman back and maybe I won’t get her either.” His gaze went to Nat. “And that’s okay too, because I’m not Bucky Barnes anymore and maybe you can’t be her…but a long time ago, Natalia Romanova made me remember what it was to feel human. They punished us both for that…they punished _us_ , Natalia. But you and I, we’re still here. We can still make this count. So whether you’re Natalia or Natasha or someone else—that’s what I want.”

The anguish in those raw words slugged Steve right in the solar plexus, and drove all the air out of him. Nat sucked in a hard breath, and she pulled her gaze off him. Steve had no idea how she turned away and focused on the wall. The grief though, it escaped no matter how hard she looked elsewhere. The pain as she locked her jaw, containing the emotions she didn’t want to express or maybe she simply didn’t want to feel.

It had been there with Fury, and she’d done the same thing then. Whirled on Steve, attacked him and he hadn’t had answers for her. Not until she’d backed him into a corner when she took the drive.

“I wanted a life with meaning,” Steve admitted. Fine if they were going to open a vein, let it rip. Bucky had just torn out his heart to show her she wasn’t alone. Steve couldn’t do any less. “I wanted a life where every day wasn’t a struggle to breathe, and where I could do something to right the wrongs in the world. I wanted it so much…I let a scientist experiment on me.” He met Bucky’s gaze and didn’t shy away from the latent anger in those eyes. “I didn’t listen to you Buck, because I wanted to be _you_. I wanted to be the guy other people could count on and if I couldn’t be useful then what good was I?”

“Stevie…” The anger seemed to deflate from his best friend, but Steve shook his head.

“No, that’s what you never understood Buck. I was okay if I died in the attempt. I was okay if it meant that it helped someone else, if it helped the troops, if it helped _you_.” He’d never admitted the truth, not to anyone. Not even Peggy. “Then it worked, and all I wanted to do was fight, but they wouldn’t let me. They sent me on that war bonds tour, made me not much more than a dancing monkey.” The shame in that clung to him like bronchitis in winter, and he’d never been able to catch his breath.

Nat licked her lips, and the defensiveness drained out of her posture as she stared at him.

Maybe ripping open his wounds was what it took to reach them both. He could do that, for them—for _her._ “Then they finally sent me to Europe to tour, and I was standing in front of this field of guys and they’d all seen real hardship and it hit me that I was still that stupid, skinny kid from Brooklyn who wouldn’t amount to much…how did Zola put it? A zero sum.”

“Steve…” She took a step toward him and he shook his head, holding her off as much as Bucky.

“And when I thought you were dead,” he continued, shifting his attention to Bucky. “When Phillips said you were on the list of the missing and presumed dead, I had to do something. Peggy was right, she kicked me in the ass when I needed it and I went after you. Damn stupid thing to do, parachuting behind enemy lines, infiltrating that base and rescuing the 107th by accident because I had to find you. I’m a fraud,” he told them. “I’m a fraud because one man was worth more to me than anything else. But it set me on the course that put me on that plane, and I ended up in the ice.”

Sleeping for decades while Hydra tortured the two people in front of him. “And I know I’m not the guy anymore, but in here?” He tapped his chest. “That’s who it feels like I still am. All I want is to set things right, make the world a little safer for both of you, have my best friend back…” Then he locked eyes with Nat. “And have a chance with you. A chance to figure out who we can be together.”

It sounded stupid when he said it aloud. Stupid and selfish. He had no right asking them to give up anything more of themselves. Hadn’t everything been taken from them already?

A hand clasped down on his shoulder and Bucky was giving him a firm stare. It was the same one he’d worn when he’d told Steve he had a place with he and his family after his mom died. “I’m here, Stevie. You got me back.”

His chuckle had a little more in the way of tears in it than he was comfortable admitting, but Steve clasped his shoulder in return. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. But I’m here now.” They’d been inching there for weeks, even with the agonizing time out Bucky had taken by returning to cryo, he’d been trying to rebuild this connection.

The choked sound from across the room had them whipping their attention back to Nat. She looked away but not before the light caught on the tears shimmering in her eyes. “You both…you both deserve a hell of a lot more.”

“We all do,” Steve reminded her. He caught Bucky’s eye and they broke apart to join her across the room. Steve didn’t want to chase her into a corner, but something had to give. She held herself so taut, and vanished into herself where he couldn’t follow her. “Natasha…you deserve so much more than anyone has _ever_ given you.” The best person in her life was Clint, but he couldn’t say the same of SHIELD. They’d used her, turned her into a weapon for them. Then when it all fell down, she’d been left on her own again.

That was on him. He should have fought harder for her. Told her she didn’t need a new cover, the one she had was just fine.

“When you burned all your covers,” he said slowly. “You really did mean you burned all the identities you built for yourself, all the faces you wore and you didn’t know who you were.”

It wasn’t a question. Why the hell hadn’t he seen that before?

She lifted her shoulders in a helpless little shrug, arms folded as if to keep herself safe. “I don’t have a self…”

Bucky blew out a breath.

“I don’t have a place in the world.” She’d been telling them that all along. “I…I have a skill set. That skillset was to make me marble, to be able to survive but it didn’t give me definition. When I left…when I broke with them. In a way, Natalia died.” The last she told Bucky, and there was almost an apology in her eyes. “I didn’t know how to be her anymore. I didn’t _want_ to be and I didn’t even know why. You’re right, they took away the one thing I carved out for myself and it changed everything.”

Heart stuttering, Steve kept his hand closed. He didn’t reach for her. She had to make this leap on her own no matter how much it killed him. Bucky’s clenched fists betrayed his struggle with it.

“And Natasha…Natasha was easy to be. She was Clint’s partner. That’s all she ever had to be.” She released a laugh that had no humor. “Tony asked me once if anything about me was real—and my truth is no. Nothing was ever real. My identity. My history. What I wanted. Who I wanted. What if the only reason I ever cared about the Soldier was because Karpov wanted me to, because he wanted to control you or maybe Ivan wanted me to so he could sabotage Karpov or Madame did…or maybe it was the cover I had. Who were we? How could we mean so much that even after they stripped everything else away—I knew you on some level?”

“Because you loved him,” Steve said softly, and it cost. It hurt like hell to admit it. “You still do.”

“Love is for children,” she retorted then scrubbed her hands against her face with a little scream as Bucky flinched.

“That’s what they told you,” Bucky said, half reaching for her before he yanked his hands back He cut a look to Steve, desperate for the right words and Steve shook his head. He didn’t have them either. “They _lied_ , Natalia. A lot.”

“And they’re still in my head, James.” She dropped her hands and faced both of then, misery in her eyes. “If I learned anything these last few weeks—they’re still there. Time bombs waiting for me to dig deep enough to detonate them. I want both of you. I want—I want to know all the things we shared, how we could have that when everything else was so dark.” Then her gaze went to Steve’s, and he saw the need in them. “I want you…I want to know what it is to be someone you trust and care for like that. To know I matter. To…be someone worthy of that.”

What had he told Clint? She would never believe it. She would always consider herself tainted, and she needed to see she was so much more. But they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t rip the blinders away; she had to do it for herself.

“You are,” he told her. “Nat…you’re everything. You are the person who lit the way for me here. You kept me grounded, you taught me…I don’t know where I’d be without you.” Then it hit him… “Natalia reminded the Soldier what it was to be human—for Bucky. Natasha did that for me. You did that…for both of us.”

She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, and looked down. “How did I do that for you when I don’t even know how to do it for myself?”

“Fake it ‘til you make it?” It was meant as a joke, but it made her eyes widen and she barked out a laugh, a painful little explosion of sound. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to make something up…when I said I needed shared life experience.”

Only two people alive had anything resembling that and he was in the room with them.

“I guess it was kind of rude to not tell you…you know…”

“That you’re an old lady?” The old man jokes were still fresh, he could respond in kind and a smile softened the sadness lingering in her eyes. She might hide from her emotions, and suppress them ruthlessly because that was what she’d been trained to do, but it didn’t mean she didn’t feel them.

“Not polite Stevie,” Bucky deadpanned. “They call us seniors these days.”

Nat grimaced. “That makes us sound like we’re in high school.”

“You were never in high school, so that’s not a bad thing.” Buck’s smile went sly. “You going to let us carry your books for you?”

That got Steve, the absurd notion of it and he snorted. “We’re ninety-five, not horny teenagers.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky gave him a shove. “And if you’re looking at Natalia and not feeling the passion there, you and I need to have a longer talk.”

Heat flamed his ears, then flushed his whole damn face. Steve shoved him back. “Bucky!”

But Nat laughed, a low throaty, wonderful sound. “Trust me, James. Steve feels a lot more than he’s letting on.” It was worth a little ribbing to see her smile.

Satisfaction spread in Bucky’s smile and Steve shook his head. “C’mere,” he said to her, opening his hand but not extending it. He wanted to reel her in close and hold her forever, but she needed to take the steps without being coaxed. She had to want it.

Thankfully, she didn’t hesitate and came right to them. Wrapping his arm around her, he made room and let Bucky bracket her, too. “You want to find Natalia or Natasha or whoever it is you want to be,” he promised against her hair. “We’ll be with you…”

“…to the end of the line,” Bucky finished for him, the echo of what he was thinking right there on his lips. “I’m not going to try and take you away from Stevie…or tell you who you have to be. I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

Surprise speared Steve, Bucky had said he wouldn’t back off. As if reading his thoughts, his best friend met his questioning gaze.

“It’s not a fight. Not between us—any of us.” His arm around Nat tightened. “I want to get to know you, and I want to be a part of your life. If that means getting to hold you—great. If it means I get to kiss you again, I’m all in. If it means sharing you with Steve…I can do that.”

The thought jerked through Steve. Sharing her? What? How would that even work? Did people do that? Well, he knew they did it, but how he didn’t get.

“That’s not fair to you…” Nat said, and she had tilted her head to look up at both of them. She was so damn tiny next to them, this close and in bare feet, she had to crane her neck to look up at them.

“Not asking for fair,” Steve told her bluntly. “Not asking you to decide what’s fair to us either. But Bucky’s right…I’m not going to make you choose, Nat.” The memory of the way she’d clung to him on the quinjet, the reality of everything changing between them if she got her memories back—if Bucky meant more to her. “I’m not going anywhere, Nat. I know where I want to be.”

“I’d believe him,” Bucky admitted. “He’s a stubborn punk once he sets his mind on something. Even more when he sets his heart on it.”

“Thank you for that,” Steve shot at him.

Unimpressed, Bucky shrugged. “It’s the truth.” Then easy humor drifted away and he sobered. “Natalia, you said you wanted us both. Did you mean it?”

The oxygen in his lungs backed up again, and Steve held his breath as he waited for her to answer.

“Yes,” she admitted, but she didn’t let the shattering confirmation hang out there. “But I shouldn’t.”

“Says who?” Steve demanded. “Who says you have to choose?”

She didn’t answer immediately, but even the flicker of conflict visible proved more telling. Her reserve crumbled and there was a nakedness in her eyes that made him want to close ranks around her and keep the rest of the world away. Who had ever done that for her? Who had ever shielded her from the rest of the world?

Even as the thought took flight, he focused on the way Bucky’s metal hand gleamed against the spill of her red curls.

“Steve,” she rasped, the low husky quality echoing with decades of loneliness and pain. Nat wasn’t afraid of anything because what the hell could the world do to her that was worse than she’d already survived? She was fearless everywhere—except her heart. It had been so badly abused, she hid it away, buried it even from herself.

Lifting his hand, he cradled her bruised cheek and smoothed a thumb over the green shadow echoing what the past had left on her. Her body healed, but what about her soul? How many times had she cobbled together the ribbons of herself? How many times had she drawn a cover on to disguise her hunger for a connection? Even as she searched his eyes, he didn’t know what it was she needed to see so he leaned into it. If he had it, he would give it to her.

“I’m right here,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere. No one is dragging me away.” They didn’t have the army that would keep him away from her.

“We can’t promise things like that,” she argued. “We have…”

“…what we have,” he finished for her, and then he cradled her face in both of his hands. Closing the distance, he didn’t close his eyes, and he didn’t look away. He didn’t miss the way her pupils dilated or the hitch in her breath as he whispered against her lips. “When we have it. You have me…right now.” And always.

This close, it took little more than a thought to close the distance. The feeling of her mouth beneath his set him on fire, and he tried to pour everything he felt into the contact. If words couldn’t convey the depth of emotion he felt for her, then he’d show her. It was hard, hungry, and far fiercer than he meant but her soft gasp allowed him access and he swept his tongue inside, teasing hers. Then her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he had her wrapped in his arms.

He was like a drowning man tasting air for the first time. Not since SHIELD collapsed and imploded what little foothold he’d found in the world had he found a genuine tether to anchor him. All those times she’d been there, she’d been the shelter he hadn’t realized how badly he craved until he’d lost her. Until he’d _let_ her go. Natasha was everything. She was the air. She was the present. She was the past.

God, he wanted to be her future.

Breaking the kiss at the soft noise she made, he lifted his head to stare into the storm in her green eyes. Her tongue skated over her lower lip, and he dipped his gaze to follow the movement. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she answered, and it was a broken syllable falling from her lips.

“Fuck that was hot,” Bucky’s comment made Steve laugh. The hungry look in Bucky’s eyes as he stared at Natasha didn’t inspire the jealousy Steve worried about, nor the fear of losing what he’d only just been able to grasp he wanted so badly. It was the uncertainty on Nat’s face that cut at him. She hadn’t missed the naked want on Bucky’s face, but the concern she wore—it wasn’t for herself, it was for Steve.

He couldn’t make her believe the words, but he could show her. It was why he’d kissed her. Loosening his arms, he turned her so she could face Bucky, and then pressed his face against her hair so he could nuzzle her ear. “It’s okay to want him,” he promised her. “It’s okay to want both of us.”

“But you’re friends…”

It was Bucky’s turn to have a hitch in his breath. Steve dared a look at him, and it about crushed him to see the same uncertainty reflected in Bucky’s eyes he’d seen in Nat’s. Contained. Restrained.

“He’s a part of me,” Steve admitted. If she’d asked him to let her go, a part of him hoped he’d have the strength to do it. But Nat’s nails were digging into his forearm where he had wrapped it around her middle. She leaned on him, trusting him to keep her upright and he refused to let her fall. “He’s a part of you. A part of us…”

It was Bucky. He’d never close the door on either of them. He’d fought too hard to get him back, and the two of them had fought too hard to survive. “It’s okay,” he promised her. “Whatever you want. We’ll make it work.”

The promise cost him nothing. He was right where he belonged.

For the first time since he’d fought to get into the army, to get overseas, to fight and do his part, he finally understood it. Understood what it was he’d been fighting so damn hard for.

He’d been fighting for the right to belong.

Nat trembled against him, and he tightened his arms around her. She wasn’t alone.

She _never_ had to be alone again.

“Natalia…” The broken sound came from Bucky this time, and then Nat was reaching for him and Steve relaxed his grip so Bucky could tug her into his arms. When he dipped his head to kiss her, Steve didn’t pull his gaze away. It was the most natural thing in the world. They collided like a all the tension holding them apart collapsed and she carded the fingers of one hand through Bucky’s hair as Buck lifted her, the cool metal of his hand standing out in stark contrast where he flattened it against her back.

Tears pricked his eyes, and Steve wanted to laugh at the joy there, scream at the injustice that had left them so ragged, and plant himself firmly in front of both of them. Nothing would break them apart.

Not again.

Then Nat’s fingers tangled against his and he realized she’d never let him go, even as she curved into Buck and his best friend devoured her like a man starving for every shred of affection, she held fast to Steve.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

If anything, he had to take deeper gulps of air because Bucky had been right—it was hot to watch her pour herself into that kiss. He hoped she looked half as engaged in him when he’d…

Bucky had released her mouth, and bowed his forehead to hers before lifting his head to meet Steve’s gaze. There were tears on Bucky’s cheek and Nat released a heart wrenching sniffling sound. Steve moved without thought. She needed to know it was all right, she was safe to feel whatever she needed to feel.

Curving one hand around her hip, he stepped in closer and Bucky relaxed his stance, but didn’t back away. They framed her, Bucky lifted his left hand and hesitated a moment then Nat took his hand and put her to her cheek and he shuddered. Still, she leaned back to Steve and then tipped her head back and he smiled down at her.

“Still with us?” He almost couldn’t believe it himself, but he wasn’t going to pass this off as a fantasy. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worth having could be.

“I…” Speechless. She was never speechless, but the guarded look in her eyes was gone. It was the most open he’d ever seen her be, and she was staring up at him, then at Bucky, and back to him. She didn’t turn away or try to mask the riot of feelings playing out in those green eyes.

“You?” Bucky prompted.

“I’m…I don’t know what I am. Or who. You both realize I’m a complete and total trainwreck, right? I really only pretend I have it all together. I’m really good at pretending.”

“It’s all right doll, we’re pretty bad at it, so one of us should be a damn expert.” The crooked grin, the Brooklyn in his voice, and the wink Bucky delivered were enough to shake loose a laugh from Steve.

“He always had a way with the ladies,” Steve told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t let him fool you.”

“Hey,” Buck jutted his chin at him. “Don’t listen to the punk. He could have been good with the ladies if he bothered to give it a go.”

Her giggle was a magical sound, and it buoyed Steve. “Do you know how many dates I fixed him up on that would totally disagree with you?”

His neck heated, but he just shook his head. Let her tease. “It wasn’t my fault you didn’t fix me up with the one woman I was interested in.”

Smoothing a thumb against her hip, he didn’t miss her trembling. He caught Bucky’s eye and nodded to the bedroom. His best friend lifted an eyebrow—no, Steve didn’t think any of them were ready for that step yet. It was too fresh and too new. But she needed comfort more. She needed to know it was okay to lean on them. God knew they leaned on her enough.

Bucky nodded after a second. He got it. It really was good to have him there, to be the other side of this. They didn’t need words. As smoothly as if they’d coordinated it, Steve scooped her up as Bucky withdrew a step. “I’ll get us some water…or…did you want hot cocoa?”

Oh—that was an even better idea.

Nat had looped her arms around Steve’s neck, the gentle bite of her nails sending a little thrill down his spine that he told his body to ignore. Getting her to let them in had been enough of a challenge for one evening, he was happy to just hold her. “Do either of you even know how to make cocoa?” Some of the sass leaked into her voice and Steve found himself grinning.

“I could figure it out,” Bucky muttered. “Maybe…” Then he gave her such a plaintive look, Steve laughed aloud.

With a huffed sigh, Nat swung her head to look at Steve. “You carrying me down to the kitchen or do I gotta hoof it?”

“Oh I’ll carry you anywhere you want to go, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed, but his grin didn’t falter.

“So that’s a yes to the cocoa?” the eagerness in Bucky’s tone broke through Nat’s attempt to look stern and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I will make you cocoa…bring the vodka. If I’m not going to get stinking drunk, it might as well go back in the freezer.” Then she bit her lower lip and the action enticed Steve enough that he dropped another kiss on her, and scraped his own teeth over her soft flesh. She let out a breath little sigh. “Thought you wanted cocoa Rogers?”

“I want lots of things,” he told her, then nuzzled her nose. “But cocoa sounds good.”

Then as if she hadn’t rocked his world with the kiss, and the ground beneath him hadn’t shifted until it realigned properly, he carried her down the stairs and to the kitchen. They’d only been in this place a few days and it already felt like home. Nat wiggled out of his arms, and landed lightly on the balls of her feet. She paused long enough to steal a kiss from him, but flitted away before he could deepen it the way he wanted. She didn’t make it far before Bucky intercepted, locking an arm around her waist and reeling her in. He got a slightly deeper kiss before she eeled out of his grip and Steve folded his arms with a laugh.

They might have her in the strength department, but he didn’t doubt for an instant if she didn’t want them to touch her she would never allow it. No, by contrast, he felt extremely privileged to be granted the intimacy at all.

Nat retrieved the milk from the fridge, and eyed Bucky where he peered in after her then shadowed her steps to the stove. “Can I help you Barnes?”

“I wanted to see how you made the cocoa.”

Steve hid a smile.

“Hmm,” she said, noncommittally. “I’m afraid those details are classified.”

“Steve…” Bucky turned to look at him. “You’d vouch for me right? Give me clearance?”

Raising his hands, Steve shook his head. “You’re on your own pal. We like the cocoa so we do not interfere with the making of the cocoa.”

“But how are we supposed to make it for Natalia?” Bucky gave him a look that said get in here and help, and Steve shook his head.

“Friday, help me out here and tell Sergeant Barnes what the rules are for the cocoa.” Nat said casually as she stood on her tiptoes to reach for the chocolate from the cupboard. There were more bars higher up, but before she could bounce up on the counter the way she had at the compound or the tower, Bucky plucked the bars down and set them on the counter in front of her.

Folding his arms, Steve bit back another smile. Bucky was just digging himself in.

“Certainly, Ms. Romanoff. Rule number one, team members will not ask for the cocoa unless emotional distress is involved. Rule number two, team members will not attempt to interfere in the making of the cocoa. Rule number three, team members who attempt to do any of the above will not be allowed to have cocoa.”

“Thank you Friday.”

“You’re quite welcome, Ms. Romanoff.”

Bucky snorted. “I’m not a member of the team.”

“Then I guess you don’t get any cocoa,” she told him coolly.

“ _Ty ranil menya, kotyonok_.” Bucky laid a hand over his chest.

Nat snorted. “You’ll live. Now shoo…go be good like Steve if you want your cocoa.” The red rim around her eyes and the hint of tearstains on her cheeks declared she wasn’t as calm as she appeared, but that was okay. She shouldn’t _have_ to pretend with them.

Hands raised in surrender, Bucky retreated to lean next to Steve. “She really never lets anyone help with the cocoa?”

“Nope,” Steve told him. “And don’t try to guess how she does it every time. She makes it different for different people.”

“Huh. How does she know what will work?” He bumped his shoulder to Steve’s, it was an easy companionable motion and Steve chuckled.

“You know… there are some things I just don’t ask.” Still it was fun to tease, to lighten the tension from earlier.

“You really okay?” Bucky asked, his voice too low to carry but Steve had no problem hearing him.

“I’m good. You?” He studied his profile, because if they were going to have an issue here they needed to settle it between them.

“I’m…better than I thought I’d be. He wants her anyway he can be with her, but it’s not just about him.” It wasn’t the first time Bucky talked about the Soldier that way. Maybe it had to be that way for now, but hopefully as he healed, they would find a way to bridge the distance. “And the more I get to know her…the more I want that, too.”

“Not a hard thing to want,” Steve agreed. Nat had paused to look at them and they’d both grinned to cover up the quiet exchange. It probably didn’t work, she looked from he to Bucky, and then shook her head and went back to feeding chocolate into the slowly heating milk.

“Steve…”

“Buck, if I hadn’t meant it I wouldn’t have said it upstairs, at the hospital, or here.” It was all too new, and too delicate. In a way, he wished they hadn’t left the suite to make the cocoa, but when Nat sent him a small smile he relaxed.

“She’s holding back,” Bucky warned.

“I know.” And he did. “We just gotta be patient.”

“You know if you two girls want to gossip about me, I can leave you to it.” She was pouring the hot cocoa into mugs.

Bucky actually flushed a deep red, but Steve laughed. “You know you like it when we have secrets for you to ferret out.”

Nat paused to consider that, and tipped her head from side to side. “Okay, I might resemble that remark.” Then a slow smile softened her face as she held out their mugs to them. Steve reached for his, but she tugged it back and arched her eyebrows. “What do we say?”

Amused, he leaned in to kiss her and paused a hair’s breadth from her lips and said, “Thank you.”

It was only the angle, but he caught sight of her curling her toes and couldn’t help the grin as he kissed her.

“Hmm,” she sighed and passed him the mug. Then she flicked a look to Bucky and held the cup out to him without retreating.

“I don’t get to say thank you?” He challenged.

“You tried to break the rules, so you’re lucky you get the cocoa.” The flash of mirth in her eyes cracked Steve up and he had to turn to keep from laughing outright because Buck frowned.

“What if I want to thank you anyway?”

She made a show of considering his comment, then crooked a finger and when he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her head at the last moment so his lips brushed her cheek and darted away before he could catch her.

“Mean, Natalia. Very mean.” But his smile belied the comment. It animated his whole face. As he had when they’d been at the hospital, he seemed to reclaim his humanity where she was concerned. Hell, it had delighted Steve that he’d actually slept in a bed—a first since coming to them. Nat did that for him.

Nat’s innate humanity, the compassion and kindness that had survived everything time and the world had done to her—demanded it of them.

After she claimed her cocoa, she pivoted to face them.

“Shall we?” Steve invited, nodding to the stairs before he changed the unspoken rules and said something he shouldn’t. The kitchen was great, but there was too much space to spread out in and while he could sit there and knock down the walls she threw up all night, he didn’t want to have to and he didn’t want her to feel the need.

Cradling her mug, she pursed her lips. “We should keep talking.”

“We can,” Steve told her, but paused when she glanced at Bucky. “Problem?”

“I just want to sweep the…” She motioned to the doors.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll do the back.”

Understanding the need, Steve said, “I’ll check the other wing.”

Decided, they split up. He didn’t expect to find anything off, but after the last few days he couldn’t blame her for wanting the assurance. Ten minutes later, he and Bucky met at the suite door. Friday had said Nat had already gone up, but she wasn’t in the sitting room.

They found her seated in the middle of the king sized bed, leaning against a stack of pillows with her legs crossed and her mug in her hand. “I think this is where we were headed when James asked for cocoa.”

Closing the door behind him, Steve didn’t say anything about the closed blinds on all the windows. Nat had even drawn the curtains. Then he glanced at Bucky, who had relaxed almost imperceptibly as he surveyed the changes. The windows bothered him, and maybe they bothered her some, too.

“We’re secure?” Bucky spoke in firm tone, yet there was still a question mark at the end.

“We’re secure, James.”

The other man nodded, then glanced at Steve, then Nat, and finally the bed. Giving him a minute, Steve met Nat’s gaze. All the cool confidence and playfulness Bucky had exhibited earlier had evaporated to leave a wary, and wounded Soldier weighing the best tactical position. Nat had set herself at the center of the bed, a tactical decision of her own.

It only took Steve a minute to work out the advantage—or lack of it, actually. She didn’t do it for her; she did it for them. They’ve both been protective. In the past, she’d refused to let him do that for her. He’d push and she’d push back. They worked well as a team, because he’d trusted her skill and she in turn had learned to rely on his.

So many moments tied them together. The instinct to shield her when the leviathan exploded over their heads; tugging her to him when Batroc threw the grenade and leaping while she cleared the glass with a shot from her gun. The way she rushed to him when the missile took out Zola and sheltered there as the world rained hell. Later when he threw her the shield to help her fight one of the damn Ultron robots, holding her own until he could get there and she returned it. There were many more, but the moments lined themselves up. Protecting Natasha had always been a dance of how much she would allow before she leapt into the fray—sometimes literally as when she’d used his shield as a catapult.

Natasha was allowing them to protect her tonight, more she trusted them to do it. The weight of that settled on him. He refused to let her down. Finally Bucky nodded and circled the bed to the far side, he took position nearest the windows, which put Steve on the side nearest the door. As his best friend slid next to Nat with the same deliberateness others handled a live grenade, Steve blew out a breath.

They still had some minefields to navigate.

“We’re okay, right?” Nat directed the question to him and he realized he hadn’t moved. Correcting the oversight, he climbed onto the bed next to her and settled against the headboard. Her shoulder brushed his and she stole a look up at him before glancing at Bucky.

“We’re okay,” Bucky assured her. “Still think this place has too many windows.”

“Unfortunately most civilians like the view,” she said it lightly. “You get used to it. Eventually.”

“Do you?” Steve asked, stretching his legs out.

“Some days,” Nat said with a little shrug. “I have trust issues.”

The bland comment made him chuckle. “You don’t say?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, then sipped the cocoa. It had a bite to it—cayenne pepper Steve thought, just enough to add to the heat.

The silence stretched, and Bucky fidgeted.

“Steve…”

“Nat…”

They both spoke at once, and Steve shifted because he wanted to look at her but before he could open his mouth, Bucky was off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was out of the room, and Nat frowned.

“Is he _really_ okay?”

“I don’t know.” Steve went to push off the bed, but she caught his arm.

“Give him a minute.” Her fingers were cool despite the warm mug she’d been holding. “This is a lot for me, I can’t imagine what it has to be like for him.”

He studied her carefully as he covered her hand, wanting to warm her up. “You know…I don’t expect us to go any further tonight than we already have.”

“I know,” she told him. “Steve you never ask for more, even when you can.”

“It’s not about can. It’s about what feels right to everyone. I can be patient Nat, you’re worth being patient for. But I’m not backing away or taking off. This has been a lot the last few weeks.” He’d waited too long before without doing anything. This was different. He wasn’t waiting to act anymore. Patience could let them savor, and heal. They all needed to heal.

“For everyone.”

“For _you_.” He shook his head. She took his breath away.

“It’s weird…as insane as it must seem to you. It all felt painfully normal to me.” And if his heart hadn’t broken for her before, it did now. “This...you—me…him. This feels almost like too much.”

“Do you want me to go?” Bucky asked, he’d paused in the doorway and even though he didn’t seem changed, there was something different about him. Steve frowned, trying to figure out what he’d done—well aside from having collected Steve’s shield.

“No,” she told him. “I don’t…did you bring a knife for me, too?”

He held up a blade, a small one that had been hidden in his palm behind the shield. “Yes.” Steve almost missed the fact he had a pair of boots in his free hand until he closed the bedroom door.

When she patted the bed next to her, Bucky rested the shield next to the nightstand within easy reach of Steve before he padded over and set the boots on the floor before sliding back onto the bed. After she accepted the blade and tucked it beneath the pillow, he rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around her waist. She straightened her legs so he could tuck his head against her thigh. Steve rescued her cocoa mug and set the empty next to his on the nightstand.

Carding her fingers through Bucky’s hair, she said, “It’s a lot to get used to being touched—to let yourself revel in contact that won’t end when someone crashes through a door. To not fear being caught. It’s overwhelming when people do nice things for you and don’t expect anything in return. Hard to trust it.” Then she canted her head to meet Steve’s gaze. “I don’t know how to _want_. I can use the word, and obviously I want to know things, but that’s all tactical. If I know what’s going on, it’s harder to surprise me. I want my friends to be safe…but sometimes I don’t want friends.”

“Because friends can hurt you,” Steve guessed.

“That…and they’re a weakness that can be exploited.” Her gaze flicked to Bucky and Steve slid an arm around her, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve been compromised before,” she said softly.

“When Loki took Clint.” He’d seen her concern, but she’d been so focused. She got the job done. But there had been an awareness, a nervous energy around her as she checked and rechecked information—then her interrogation of Loki. He hadn’t known her well enough then, but looking back—all the signs were there.

“Before that…” When Bucky touched his fingers to her abdomen, she glanced at him and sighed. “Yes, I let you shoot me because I couldn’t bring myself to shoot at you.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s over,” she told him. “We’re here.” Tipping her head back, she sighed. “You asked me if I’d ever found Natalia or Natasha…”

“Nat, you don’t…”

“No, I do. I need to answer this.” She licked her lips, and her gaze was distant. “I inhabited my covers. They let me pretend to be a real person. I don’t think Natalia felt real to me, I mean I knew it was me, but when I was in the Red Room—Natalia’s only goal was survival to become the Black Widow. Then I achieved it, and all it meant was more of the same…I was the Widow. I became what they needed me to become and Karpov started to tear away even those foundations.”

Bucky tensed, and Steve had to lock his jaw. Right now, she needed them to listen. These were battles she’d already waged and won. She’d survived them. He could survive listening.

“If not for the Soldier, I don’t think I would have held onto even a sense of self. Natalia became real for the Soldier. _I_ was real. I don’t know it all yet, I can only see bits and pieces. Dreams—moments…but I think we only ever had moments. So often we were being watched, there was always someone. But he saw _me_. He brought me back. I held on because of him and in his own twisted way, Ivan made sure that he would be the reason I survived.”

Because they’d taken the Soldier from her.

“The years after I left are clearer. But I was always on the run. I kept moving, head on a swivel. Don’t run, walk—but always be aware. Know what every person in the room is going to do before they do it. Look for the layers beneath what they show to the world—you can learn a lot about a person from how they walk, how they talk, what they say to the waitress or how the cross the street. Reading people, their cues, it pays off because I can adjust my behavior to entice or repulse them, to lure them into trusting me or into ignoring me. I had to be fluid and flexible, which meant I kept breathing and stayed on the move.”

She turned her hand over under his and he studied the contrast of the smaller delicate bones dwarfed beneath his.

“I got on SHIELD’s radar in a bad way. I used to take jobs through intermediaries. Middlemen who made a business of funneling money and information. They got a cut on either side, so it didn’t behoove them to screw anyone and everyone knew who they were so that would be twice the enemies if they fucked it up. It was a system. It worked for us. The job came in, like all the others. An assassination, easy money.” The coldness of her words didn’t match the downturn of her lips. “I always said yes, and I liked challenges. Anything to get the blood running, so the middleman just sent me the files and the places to be. Once, I was in position before I even opened it to see the target.”

Bucky had gone still, and his gaze was focused upward, staring at Natasha.

“I can honestly say there isn’t much that I haven’t done that isn’t reprehensible by someone’s standards. I’ve killed. I’ve let men use me—some women too—if it let me get what I needed, information, resources… access to a target. My body was just another weapon, a tool. I tortured people. I let them torture me. If it got the job done, it was okay. The targets didn’t matter, the mission did.”

She trembled.

“Nat…what was in the file?” Because it was important, or she wouldn’t be telling them. Whatever it was, it had her rattled all these years later.

“The target was a child.” She shook her head; her pupils were so huge as she stared unseeing forward. “A little boy—not more than eight years old. He was a tiny thing, dark hair and dark eyes. He had the most heart-stopping smile, sweet and open and he trusted the whole world. I read it twice, and then looked at the pictures the buyer had supplied. He was at a park eating ice cream, at a school playing on a jungle gym, on the sidewalk holding the hand of his mother—or the woman I learned later was his mother—hopping over puddles in the rain.”

Bucky’s knuckles had gone white where he gripped her leg, but if he was hurting her she didn’t even seem to notice. Her hand was icy and Steve squeezed her before snagging the duvet she’d turned back earlier, and pulling it over her and Buck both.

“The buyer wanted it to look like an accident—even had some suggestions about what the child was allergic to. Did you know a severe peanut allergy can inhibit breathing to the point of suffocation in a few minutes? Not only did the buyer want the child dead, they wanted it done before a certain date and the sooner the better.” A mirthless laugh. “I spent a whole day just watching this kid. He was just a little boy—he hadn’t done anything to anyone. So why the hell did someone want him dead?”

The quiet outrage was the first emotion she’d allowed into her voice since beginning the story.

“I got mad. I never get angry. Anger serves nothing. Anger makes you weak, and it blinds you to what is around you. It compromises you. I was pissed off. I made a point to find out who had offered the contract, in the meanwhile I got word someone else had taken the job…”

“You took them out.” Bucky said, no hesitation in the observation.

“Oh yes,” she said with a smile that was all savage satisfaction. “The buyer was getting desperate. He made it an open bid, so I was plenty busy keeping that little boy alive. But no one was getting him on my watch… and I put out the word the job was the Black Widow’s and she would not tolerate anyone poaching. That scared off plenty…and it gave me a lead on the buyer.” Her eyes went half-lidded. “The buyer turned out to be his biological father…the mother had been an affair of his, the child a by-product, and he was running for office. He was cleaning up loose ends.”

Steve didn’t need to know the rest of the story. “He was someone close to SHIELD?”

“The son of someone on the World Security Council,” Nat said with a careless shrug. “I liked killing him. He deserved it. As it turns out there’s a market for that, too. So I started looking for jobs where the buyer deserved it more, and took them out. Eventually…Clint came and he wouldn’t kill me. I was ready for it to end, but he wouldn’t do it.”

The last phrase made his heart stutter. Natasha was one of the most vibrantly alive people he’d ever known. She fought with a playfulness that could turn ferocious in a heartbeat. And she’d all but laid down to die.

“You know how that went, I ended up at SHIELD. Before that little boy, I was nobody. I’d left Natalia behind, and I drifted. I had no place in the world. But after, I was the Widow again. And the Widow could do so much more. Then Clint and I was Natasha. I became Natasha. Clint used to say that was my choice, being Natasha was the first time I’d chosen—but it wasn’t. I’d chosen to be the Widow, I fought for it and I earned it. The Soldier fought for Natalia, and because he did, I did. So I chose to be her, too.”

She sighed, and stole at look up at him. The quiet expectation existed in her eyes, a curtain lifted into the way her mind worked he was really only beginning to understand. But she seemed to be waiting for rejection.

She was going to have to live with disappointment on that front.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Steve told her and she blinked, as she stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re amazing,” he repeated, then nuzzled a kiss to her forehead before angling his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth and teasing her lips open for a deeper, wetter kiss. He poured his affection for her into the contact, and her groan sent heat licking along his spine. If he wasn’t careful, all his good intentions were going to go up in flames. She strained against him, her hand curling around his nape. The gentle scratch of her nails almost as enticing as the way she sucked on his tongue and it took everything he had to break the kiss. Her cheeks had reddened from his beard, and her lips were swollen from the kiss. She was gorgeous. Forehead to forehead, he panted. “Amazing.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky commented. “Hell of a view from down here.”

Then they were all laughing, and Nat groaned. “You guys are dangerous for me.”

“You can handle it,” Steve told her, and he believed it.

“Is that kiss number ten or twelve since 1945?” The impertinent remark earned her kiss to her nose and he just shook his head.

“It’s the first of many with you, that’s all that matters.” Weariness swept through him, but he was reluctant to move. He liked how she fit against him, and he didn’t even mind Bucky curled up against her like a cat. It was actually kind of nice. He didn’t think he could put up with any other man there. An image of the way Tony looked at Nat sometimes flashed through his head, and he clamped down on that thought.

There was no point in borrowing trouble. Nat was here and she’d been upfront about Bucky. Her relationship with Tony was complicated, but he knew they cared about each other though he didn’t think it had gone any further. After all his assumptions about Clint, if he wanted to know, he’d ask.

Still… “You really want me to go back?” He studied her. The shift in subject didn’t surprise her, or if it did she didn’t show it.

“I think you should, yes.” Which carefully avoided the _want_ portion of the question. “I think the team needs it, and I know Tony does.”

“I still can’t believe he’s done all this after…”

“Tony’s a complicated guy,” she reminded him. “He wouldn’t do any of this if he didn’t want to—if it wasn’t important.”

“He’s helping me, Stevie.” Bucky added. “He has every reason in the world to hate me.” He’d tried to kill Bucky when he’d found out. “I don’t know if I could do the same for a guy who killed my parents.”

Truth be told, Steve didn’t know either. “Going back means leaving you two out.”

“For now,” she reminded him. “Tony’s got the plan for James. If Tony said he would keep James safe out here, he meant it.”

That was a telling comment, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed it. “Where do you plan to be?” It came out a little more clipped than he cared for, but she didn’t sound like she planned to follow Bucky while Steve went back to face the committee and try to get the Avengers re-authorized.

“I’ll be around. Someone has to make sure they don’t try to put you or Wanda in a prison,” she reminded him.

“You’re going back to the States?” Bucky pushed himself up to a sitting position, and stared at her, searching her expression. She leaned her head against Steve’s shoulder but she didn’t shy away from Bucky’s study. “What are you planning Natalia?”

“If I ask you both to trust me, would you?”

He already trusted her, but he also knew her. Steve understood why she was asking, but he didn’t like it. “If we asked you to trust us with it, would you?”

She started to extract herself from his arms, and he gave her a little room, but not far. Instead he clasped her hand as Bucky tucked the duvet around her.

“I trust you, _solnyshko moya_.” she said first to Steve, and then added to Bucky, “And you, _milii moi.”_ A sudden apprehension fisted in Steve’s chest. “But I need you both to trust me…”

“You’re going after Ross.” Bucky’s face went to stone. “Natalia… _he_ wants to kill you.”

“He would hardly be the first.” As if that were any kind of comfort at all. Hadn’t they just had to sit and watch her be beaten in front of them? Was she planning on asking him to do that again?

Because no. Just…he couldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t_.

Steve fisted his temper in both hands. Bucky’s eyes had already narrowed and the blank expression creeping over his face said volumes for his state of mind. “Nat, the man might be a bastard. But he’s the Secretary of State… work with us here.” If she assassinated him, even someone like Ross, they’d never let her come back.

They hadn’t come this far, only to have her throw her life away.

Not. Happening.


	48. More headaches for someone, probably us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes caring for someone means letting them do what terrifies you

 

Chapter Forty-Eight

_More headaches for someone, probably us_

Bucky

 

 

The Soldier considered and discarded half a dozen plans to contain the Widow before she pursued whatever plan she entertained concerning Retired General and current Secretary of State Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross. Nearly all would require a certain level of violence because she would not agree quietly, and the Soldier would not harm her. No. If she wanted the man erased, the Soldier could do it easily enough. It wouldn’t impede Stark’s plan to exonerate him or allow him to return home and it would protect the two most important people in his world.

All perfectly acceptable results.

“Nat, the man might be a bastard. But he’s the Secretary of State… work with us here.” The urgency in Steve’s plea snapped through to Bucky and he frowned.

Huffing out a sigh, Nat pulled a knee to her chest and glanced from one to the other. Her kiss-reddened lips tightened. Natalia didn’t want to tell them. He could almost see the wheels turning in Steve’s head.

They’d just regained the privilege of touching her, and the Soldier refused to contemplate how fleeting the opportunity might turn out to be. Laying a hand against her calf, he studied Natalia’s micro expressions, and more telling, the way she opened and closed her hand as if she wanted to reach out to them but hesitated.

“Nat?” The quiet request in Steve’s voice punched through whatever indecision held her tongue.

“It’s…it’s nothing concrete, yet.” Licking her lips, she glanced from one to the other. “And I’m not trying to play coy or keep it from you. But there’s a reason Ross has been targeting me. At first, I didn’t really think about it. I’m an easy target, spend a little time looking at my history and you don’t even need to fabricate evidence—in fact, it works to your advantage if you spoon feed key details, because I certainly have enough that fall outside the lines of normative behavior.”

“Are you profiling yourself?” Bucky blinked.

She shrugged. “It’s what I do. Building psychological profiles has always been part of my skillset, so step outside what you like about me—what are three things you think of when I come to mind? The very first three things.”

“Threat level, skill set, and containment options.” The fact those were the first three things he thought of made him wince. At Steve’s look of reproach, he lifted his hands. “She asked and I approach almost everyone that way.”

“Not sure that makes me feel better, Buck.”

“It’s our training,” Natalia agreed, then linked her fingers with Steve even as she shifted her feet to tuck her toes beneath Bucky’s thigh.. “Now you, be honest…you’re really not going to hurt my feelings.”

Bucky wasn’t sure Steve would play along. “Personally or tactically?” But he squared his shoulders and met her probing gaze with a question of his own.

“Tactically,” she said, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “You’ve been abundantly clear about your personal feelings.”

His eyes flashed and Bucky had to hide a grin of his own. The gentle way she teased and cajoled Steve out of a temper was leagues above and beyond Bucky’s normal tact of leaving him to stew unless he asked for help.

With a heavy sigh, Steve said, “I don’t want to fight you. Primarily because to beat you would mean using excessive force where I might genuinely injure you, and you know how I fight better than I do. Lying to you is never an option because you see right through me, and it’s like you know what I’m going to say before I open my mouth. You’re dangerous, deadly, and a formidable opponent in all areas. I’d much rather have you on my side…and if you didn’t want me to, I’d never find you.”

Steve’s voice thickened at the end, a visceral fear that she would choose to disappear on him and if he didn’t interfere, he’d lose her. He couldn’t tell him now, not with Natalia right there but Bucky and the Soldier knew they could find her. She was wily and clever, but he understood how she thought. They weren’t so dissimilar. He wouldn’t let Stevie lose her.

“Did you see me as a threat when I sided with the Accords and Tony rather than you?” No apology lived in that question; it was simply a gentle inquiry.

“I did,” Bucky admitted, aware of the sharp look Steve gave him. “But I also knew I didn’t want to engage you—not after what happened in the cafeteria.”

Bucky didn’t have to close his eyes to see the scrolling image of her slamming her fist into his groin, then his gut, or how she’d climbed, him and started driving her elbow into his head repeatedly. Wrapping his metal hand around her throat and slamming her into the table, all he’d seen was threat. The Widow would prevent him from completing Zemo’s task. Eliminate was the only option. He cleared his throat, and glanced down. How many times was he going to be the reason she got hurt?

“I didn’t—not because you weren’t or couldn’t be—but because I didn’t want you to be a threat and even if you were….” He shook his head slowly. “I wasn’t going to fight you.”

Surprise flickered across her face. “Steve…”

“No,” he told her firmly. “I’d fought Bucky to get him to stop. I hated every minute of it. I had to or he wouldn’t—but I wasn’t going to fight you.”

Her eyes narrowed, then blew out a breath, then she looked at Bucky and he straightened under the attention. “If I ever slip, you better not let me hurt him.”

“Only if you promise me the same.” Stopping her didn’t mean killing her, and he’d find a way to knock her out.

“Hey,” Steve argued. “I can protect myself, no secret deals.”

Natalia’s smirk pulled a rueful chuckle from Bucky. “You do know the definition of secret would require we make the deal where you can’t hear it, right?”

“I don’t care, I don’t want either of you fighting.” He leveled a look of censure in Bucky’s direction.

“To be fair, Steve—she’s right. If you won’t fight her, she could kill you. Do you want her to have to live with that?” It was harsh, but sometimes Steve needed harsh to stop being so pigheaded stubborn. “I’m never going to hurt her on purpose again, but to save her the pain I know I felt…when you let me beat the shit out of you?”

His face reddened as he ducked his head away. “I think we’re getting off topic…”

Maybe a little, but Bucky had a feeling he knew where she was going with this. Or maybe it was the Soldier who recognized the tactics.

“I’m just making a point. Ross is spending a lot of time and energy painting me as a threat. There are a lot of reasons he could be targeting me. One, he hates Bruce and I got in his way on that issue more than once.”

Banner. The one who turned into the monster, threat level priority alpha, disengage at all costs.

“Clint’s not on his radar fully. He was there, but Clint was always in the background—like I was and he was technically retired when the Accords came into play. Thor isn’t on the planet, and Bruce is in the wind.” There was a hint of a twist to her mouth when she said the last. Twice she’d mentioned Banner and twice it bothered her. “That leaves you and Tony. Tony’s a poster child for the Accords, and you’re you. No one wants to be seen attacking Captain America. He can’t touch Tony unless he can force his hand. Tony’s been going out of his way to defend me…”

“You think he’s using you to put pressure on Tony.” Dislike filtered through Steve’s voice.

“That’s a distinct possibility. It’s not the only one.” The way she said it suggested she had more than one reason for the supposition. “Without going into details, if Ross could force Tony to slip—to make a mistake on the public stage, he would eliminate the one real opposition he has over the Accords. Ross needs a win. The public doesn’t want to hate you Steve, and they don’t want to hate Tony. You, Thor, the other guy and Tony are the faces of New York. You saved the city—and consequently the world.”

Before Steve could protest, she raised a hand. “Just listen—you asked me to tell you what I was thinking and planning, I’m…I’m trying to lay this out the way I see it, the pieces I’ve begun to put together.”

He nodded, and Bucky shifted, focused on her. He needed these details as much as Steve did. His intelligence had been limited to what he could glean from newscasts, and even then, he hadn’t always been clear on all the players.

“When they presented the Accords to us, one of the incidents they cited was DC.”

“I was there,” Steve told her, nodding. His expression was all fierce concentration. He got this way when he listened to reports on troop placement and field intelligence. Looking for the hole they could exploit…where were their resources best used.

“DC wasn’t the Avengers, Steve.”

A jolt went through Bucky. “It was SHIELD—and Hydra.”

“Yes,” Natalia said with a small smile. “But none of you were the face of it—not you James. Not Steve.”

Suddenly, Steve leaned back against the headboard and his expression turned to stone. “You.”

“Me.” Natalia let out a little sigh. “After…after I left you in the graveyard, I told you I had to rebuild my covers. I did a little traveling, I went back to Russia, I did some clean up…what I didn’t tell you…was the number of _clean up_ attempts I had to avoid.”

“Dammit, Nat…why didn’t you tell us?” Exasperation and worry ignited in Steve’s expression.

“Because you would have come running, and you had work to do. So did Tony, and everyone else. It was my mess and my file. But it wasn’t the first time, I’ve dealt with this stuff for years—and maybe it made me a little blind to what was happening.” She chewing the inside of her lip and all Bucky wanted to do was guide her away. Her and Steve both. What the hell did they owe the world? They could vanish. Between the three of them, they had everything they needed.

“So you just decided to handle it on your own.” Another head shake. “Not anymore.”

“I’m not done—”

“Not anymore,” Steve repeated, and his heels were dug in. He wasn’t going to give on this issue.

“She knows, Stevie,” Bucky said after the silence between them extended. “But we said we’d listen…and I think we’re missing something here. You might be the target, Natalia, but it doesn’t tell us why or how it works in our favor to deal with Ross.” He carefully edited out the eliminate Ross, because that was an idea worth tossing around. Steve wouldn’t like it, but frankly, some people were better off dead.

“Between DC and Sokovia, several things happened…”

“The Hydra raids,” Steve filled in, and with a glance at Bucky added, “After SHIELD fell, Hydra assets took off with a lot of equipment and tech including Loki’s scepter. It was a powerful weapon, and we were trying to get everything back.”

“Strucker,” Bucky said, and the Soldier shifted under his skin. The baron had been another convinced he could remake people into weapons. He was familiar with the name and the work.

“Exactly,” Natalia said, with a small smile. “James, I’m sorry I’m running through all of this assuming you know the key details. Just tap me if you don’t.”

“It’s fine, doll. I get it. You’re laying out the road map, I can follow along well enough.” But he liked that she cared enough to notice.

Hell, he liked everything about her.

“We didn’t have a lot of collateral…even with as often as we had the other guy out.” Steve mused. “Not until Johannesburg.” His expression tightened. “The lullaby, you think Ross has something against you because of the lullaby?”

“Maybe. I think to understand the level Ross hated Bruce, you have to understand that Ross was in charge of the resurgence in super soldier serum research. It was his military operation, and Bruce was one of the scientists who was supposed to be working for him. Everything they did, was to make another you…”

“But it went wrong,” Steve exhaled.

“And when Bruce becomes the other guy, he did a lot of damage. One of those places was Harlem and another at Culver University. Ross was hunting him both times—his goal was always to contain or destroy the other guy, not because he wanted to save the world or anything…”

Lightning struck. “He wanted a weapon.” Bucky leaned his head back. It always came down to men in power wanting to control others, to make them over so they could serve whatever whim they had.

“Nat, you couldn’t control the Hulk.” Steve frowned. “I know what Bruce meant to you…”

That snapped Bucky’s head up. Nat and Bruce? What?

“It’s not about control, it’s about the fact I could soothe him. That we worked out a way to calm him down so he would let Bruce out, and we could minimize the collateral. It helped Bruce feel more confident in the field and sometimes, we just needed him. I’d have died in Sokovia without him…”

Another whiplash glare, and then Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Another one of those moments you just took care of yourself?”

“No, I couldn’t have. It was right before the final evac, I’d gone to do the lullaby. The other guy was listening, then Ultron did that strafing fire run. I had nowhere to go with that much heavy fire coming in, the other guy shielded me, and when I woke up, he was putting me on the deck of the hellicarrier and then he went after him. Then he disappeared aboard that quinjet.”

Natalia could tame a threat as great as the other guy. She might be right about why it made her so dangerous. Why they’d target her… “If all this is true, it means Ross will never stop trying to capture you.”

“There’s one more piece, I just haven’t quite figured out where it belongs—yet.” When she explained her questions about Smith, the fact he’d been with SHIELD, and the very bizarre statement he’d made about how she was going to make him a lot of money. It left them all wondering how it fit, if it fit at all. “I have no proof,” she told them. “Not yet. But I trust my instincts in this—it _all_ ties back to Ross. I have something he wants, leverage over Tony, the fact I dumped all of Hydra and SHIELD’s files out there, I hid Bruce from him and ran interference with his searches at the behest of Fury—maybe he thinks I know where Bruce is.”

It could simply be Natalia possessed a serum that made her ageless and healed her so swiftly. She didn't have their strength, but with her skills it hardly mattered. If Ross wanted super soldiers, he could tear Natalia apart for the secret.

“Or thinks if he threatens you publicly it will bring Bruce out.” Steve’s jaw tightened. There was a story there and Bucky wanted it, but another time. Not now.

“If Bruce were going to involve himself, I think we would have heard from him by now. It says something that there’s been no word at all.” She shrugged. “So yes…I think I can bait Ross out into the open and force him to make a mistake.”

Tension stiffened his spine. Natalia leaned back against the pillows, threading her fingers with Steve’s as if suddenly struck by her weariness.

“How, Nat?” was all Steve asked.

“I’m going to have Tony turn me in.”

Bucky was pretty sure there were more words after that from both Steve and Natalia, but his world went to static. By the time he focused on them again, Steve had him in a tight grip, wrists shackled in his fists and Natalia had her legs wrapped around his neck and pinning his shoulders.

The struggle went out of him and he shuddered out a breath. “I’m here…”

What the hell?

He shot a look at Steve. No visible blood, but there was a red mark on his right arm that looked like the outline of metal fingers. He couldn’t see Natalia. “Did I hurt anyone?” His whole body ached, and he thumped his head back against Natalia’s abdomen, straining to see her face.

“No,” she promised him. “You weren’t trying to hurt us at all.” She stroked her fingers through his hair and gradually he realized they weren’t in the bedroom anymore but the front hallway downstairs.

“What the hell?”

Steve gave him a long hard look. “You sure you’re back?”

“Yeah, pal. I’m sure…what did I do?” A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, but the way Natalia’s nails stroked against his scalp soothed him.

“Just got up and stormed out,” Steve told him as he eased off and let him go. Natalia loosened her grip and he was able to relax his shoulders, but he still leaned heavily against her.

“You seemed very intent on leaving.”

He frowned. The earlier conversation scrolled through his head. The Soldier took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Natalia. “You can’t turn yourself in.”

“James…”

“No.” He tapped her thigh and she slid her legs wider to free him. He sat up abruptly and twisted to face her on the floor. Touching the fingers of his right hand to her cheek, he traced the lingering hint of bruising that hadn’t fully faded yet. “You can’t Natalia. If Smith was involved with Ross, then Ross knows how to trigger you.”

Steve sucked in a harsh breath. “I was going to tell her she couldn’t do it because it’s a bad idea. But that makes it a worse one.”

“I’ll do it,” Bucky offered. “I’ll take him out.”

“No,” Steve argued. “And for all the same reasons, not to mention they’ll shoot you on sight for one.”

“They’d have to see me coming.” It wasn’t pride; he knew how to disappear. The skill belonged to Bucky long before it had been the Soldier’s.

“No, James,” Natalia sided with Steve on this and she covered his fingers on her cheek. Disheveled and rumpled, she was so damn beautiful. “He’d need to have Ivan’s voice, and the pattern of the melody, and know what to do. It took Smith a bit to work it all out. As far as we know, he didn’t have time to contact Ross before he died.”

“It’s too risky,” he argued, and stood, lifting her up with him. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, you just have to trust me.”

“Trusting you isn’t the problem, Tasha,” Steve groaned frustration edging every word. “We don’t trust _him_.”

She folded her arms and paced away, then glanced back at Bucky. Worry filled those green eyes and he hated being the cause of it. “Maybe we should table this for now.”

Which wasn't code for abandoning her plan so much as regrouping to convince them later. Bucky adjusted his arm. There was a throb in his shoulder. Someone had to yank him hard to make that happen. Their first night together and he slipped.

“You didn’t hurt us, Buck,” Steve told him quietly. “You just kept trying to move.” His gaze went to Natalia. “You didn’t lay a finger on her.”

That was something. “But I did you?” He nodded to the marks on his arm.

“You just tried to power lift me up and put me behind you.” The humor in his smile touched his eyes.

“That’s not reassuring,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He tracked Natalia and she’d paced away from both of them, her expression distant as she stared out a window. With most of the interior lights off, they were left in the hush of the moonlight reflecting off the snow. “How do we stop her?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I don’t know if we can. So we hammer out the plan, make it as foolproof as possible.”

“There’s no such thing as foolproof.” Failure had never been an option. But neither had been missing a shot. He’d done it for Natalia. He’d pulled his shot. In DC yes, but in Berlin—in Berlin he’d been freshly triggered and running only on the words in his head. It was like facing Steve on the hellicarrier, he hadn’t wanted to think, only do his mission. But on the bridge, in DC?

The red hair.

The sound of her voice behind the car.

The feel of those thighs coming over his shoulders.

He’d _known_ her and he hadn't wanted to kill her. Every blow they exchanged stirred him.

“I was going to kill Ross.” It wasn’t even a question. “If I killed him, she wouldn’t do whatever this is she’s going to do.” Numbness swept over him. The Soldier accepted the fact no matter what they said, Natalia would do this.

She turned from the window and looked at them. The light behind haloed her red hair, but left her face in a shadow. “You both want to protect me. You want me to stay safe and away from this…but I can’t. I might be the only one who _can_ do this. It’s not enough to kill Ross…”

Then Steve exhaled a long breath and Bucky knew the fight was over. The tightness around his chest made it hard to breathe.

“You want to discredit him.” Hearing the words from Steve gave them weight.

“He’s the architect behind every attack—on you, on Wanda, the Raft, and now Tony. I thought we got lucky with those files; they would do the work for us, but he’s still hanging on. I’ve taken down more powerful men than him. I _know_ I can do this.” The quiet confidence radiated out of her, it wasn’t just Natalia talking—but the Widow She knew her measure and her strengths particularly on her chosen battlefield and the Soldier relinquished the fight then, too.

“Let’s say you do this—you have to get close to him. If Tony turns you in, even if you can _convince_ Tony to go along with this, what makes you think Ross would give you the opportunity?” That was a sticking point.

“Arrogance. Overconfidence. Greed. The fact that most people who’ve ever had dealings with me go by my reputation won’t hurt. I’m a liar, and a manipulator. If Tony, my friend who has been trying to clear me, turns me in—how long before I turn on him?” The slow, almost seductive way she delivered the words beckoned them to follow her along the winding path. “And if I’m helpless and in his power, what can I do but cooperate?”

Even tied to a chair, her mind bound by triggers, Natalia was not helpless. “It’s an awful risk,” he told her. “He could just as easily put a gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

His world went bleak at the very idea.

“But he won’t... He's too greedy.” She spread her hands as she walked toward them. “Smith put that bounty out—it was very specifically for capture. He worked with two of the craziest men the Red Room ever produced with the intent to double cross them and escape with me. He had a plan and he had to have somewhere to go. Ross wants me alive. So we use it.”

She was in her element. The bruised and battered heart she’d opened up to them about was carefully hidden away by artful masks and the armor of experience she wrapped around herself. A mission had clear-cut goals, and measurable achievement. It was far less messy than committing to them and an uncertain future—even if she’d dared to risk it for them.

“What happens after?” Steve asked. “You discredit him. But they still have you.”

“I’m not going in a cell, Steve,” she promised him. “I’ll get out—even if they won’t let me go.”

“If you don’t, we’re going to come and get you.” Bucky finished, then he glanced at Steve. “Stevie?”

“I hate every part of this idea,” his best friend said flatly. In the half-light created by the unearthly glow off the snow and with his beard, he looked like an older, darker version of himself. Steve hadn’t escaped the passage of time unscathed. They had all changed so much. “Even more because what you’re thinking fits, and I _know_ you can pull this off. I hate seeing you have to put yourself through this.”

This being the fact she would likely be beaten. They would lay hands on her.

“I can handle it,” she promised.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve growled, then he curled an arm around her and hauled her against him. She went pliant and wrapped herself around him and Bucky had to sigh at the sight. It was like she melted all the hard edges and they blurred together. They fit.

For the span of a moment, he thought to draw away. Maybe if he’d never come back they…

A hand on his shoulder tugged him closer and it was Steve bracing him. They were both looking at him and Natalia had her hand out.

“I can’t do this without you pal,” Steve told him. “You need to keep me sane if she goes.”

“You realize I’m more likely to arm up and follow her than hold back and keep you here?” Bucky demanded, even as he leaned into Natalia’s back and rubbed his head against her hair. The scent of her grounded him, even as he began the mental inventory of everything they would need to do to stay a step behind her and in position. “We need to be ready to act, that means being there and not here…”

Steve nodded firmly. “That’s how you’re going to keep me sane.”

“I’m still right here, y’know,” she complained.

“Hush,” Bucky told her and gave her a light pinch on the ass. “You want to act like you’re a damn, fool hero then you need to understand pulling fools out of the fire is what I do.”

“Hey,” Natalia groaned, but it made Steve grin.

“So maybe all those back alley fights were good for something,” he said without a hint of irony or repentance.

“Punk,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. Only he would be proud of how much blood he'd spilled to bullies beating the hell out of him before Bucky could get there to haul them off.

“Jerk,” Steve retaliated, but they locked gazes and Bucky understood it without the words.

No matter what happened, they weren’t losing Natalia.

She tugged them into the kitchen, and then they were building sandwiches. Well, he and Steve built sandwiches while she supervised. Legs dangling, she sat on a counter and cherry picked off their ingredients, stealing a slice of cheese off of his, and a piece of meat from Steve’s—then she purloined the sliced tomatoes forcing them to cut more. It was ridiculous and made the task take longer, and yet funny and endearing.

When Natalia asked Steve for a story about when they grew up, he had to endure Steve’s recounting of the first time Bucky had gotten kissed. She delighted in the awkward, embarrassing moment that had left him red-faced and stammering. Twelve year old Bucky Barnes had been awkward as hell.

“I think it sounds charming,” she soothed him, running her toes against his thigh.

“There’s nothing charming about stammering through the words, then having your mouth be so dry, your lips actually stick to hers and she winces when you pull away.” Despite his effort to emphasize just how awful it had been, Natalia only grinned wider.

“What about you Steve?”

Bucky burst out laughing because Steve went redder than the tomato slice she was eating. “Stevie doesn’t talk about that.” The act of laughing was like dislodging the rocks off the grave episodes like he'd had earlier entombed him in. Even if his escape hadn’t been like the others, this time prompted only out of the single-minded desire to keep her safe—it left him haggard and worn. But the ease of conversation, even at his own expense softened the smothering aftermath.

“I don’t not talk about it either,” Steve complained and jabbed him lightly, the blow too light to even count as a hit. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Gaping at him, Bucky stretched over and stole another thin slice of the roast beef he had stacked on his sandwich and offered it to Natalia. “That’s not what you said when it happened.”

“I was thirteen when it happened.” Steve countered as if the red blush hadn’t crawled down to his neck and left even his earlobes a startling shade of pink. “Things change.”

Hooking her legs around Bucky, Natalia pulled him in and then let him feed her the piece of meat as she lifted her eyebrows at Steve. The inquisitive expression and sparkle in her eyes was hard to deny.

Maybe they were all trying too hard to reassert some normalcy, but Bucky hungered for this—the playfulness, the connection, and the simple pleasure of stroking his thumb across her lower lip to tease her mouth open before feeding her. He longed for more moments where she locked her thighs on his hips for balance as she stretched over and implored Steve with a kiss. More, he even delighted at how she smacked his ass with the flat of her foot, a move that proved just how flexible she was without ever escaping the counter.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Steve relented. “Her name was Patience.” The corners of Natalia’s lips twitched, but her gaze practically adored Steve as she soaked in his words. “Bucky and I had gotten work the year before—Bucky more than me, but I could run water buckets, so I did. Biggest building in New York—huge project. The day it opened, we got to stand on the deck and look out over the city…and they let us bring guests. Patience Marshall was a nice girl, and she didn’t even seem to mind that I wasn’t athletic or couldn’t catch my breath if I ran a block. Took her up on the deck, and it was…probably the first time in my life I couldn’t breathe and it didn’t have anything to do with my asthma.”

Even as he spoke, Bucky could see it. Stevie hadn’t wanted to take a girl. He’d actually asked his mom, but Aunt Sarah had to work. She always had to work. It shamed Bucky that he’d been trying to figure out how to get a girl up there because all the guys on the crew kept talking about the big heroes they’d be to their wives or their girls. Bucky wanted to be a big hero. But then Steve asked his mom, so Bucky had asked his—she’d been pregnant with his youngest sister at the time and declined.

At the time, he’d been relieved but Bucky couldn’t even remember the name of the girl he’d asked to go. Could barely remember what she looked like. But Steve asking Patience had stunned him. Steve always choked when it came to stringing words together around girls he liked. Then Patience had kissed him on the cheek after their first look over the city. Steve’s grin had been brighter than the sun, and he listed all the things they’d done. With a little maneuvering, Bucky had gotten him some privacy and…

“It was a good kiss,” Steve admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She was a really nice girl.”

“Steve Rogers, did you break her heart?”

At that, he laughed. “No ma’am, she was sparking with Danny Boyd the next week. I think she worked her way through the neighborhood, sparking every boy until she got around to Bucky…”

He frowned, because he’d remembered how giddy Steve had been, and how well it had gone. But not that part… “I didn’t?”

“Nah,” Steve assured him. “You told her she’d already kissed the best of us and then you got her looking at me again.”

Oh… “But you were really polite when you turned her down,” Bucky said slowly. “And I didn’t understand it, but you said…”

“…it was a perfect kiss, but sometimes it only takes one to know whether they’re right for you or not. Even if it was my first one.” Steve’s gaze locked on Natalia and her smile grew.

“Please tell me the mall wasn’t where you decided if I was right for you…” The mock horror in her eyes pulled another laugh out of Stevie. Better, it made him give her a knowing look that just might confirm it had and the idea surprised Natalia.

It was odd, Steve had always possessed the most readable of faces and Natalia an enigma, but one he used to have a cypher for. Yet here, he couldn’t decipher their conversation.

“Who did you kiss in the mall, Steve?” Natalia was the obvious answer, but why would he…Steve was not a man prone to public displays despite his slip with the blonde. What had her name been? Had he even known it?

An image flashed of tossing her off him as she tried to intercept in the cafeteria. Decent fighter, but she lacked Natalia’s skill and conviction. Later, she’d brought Steve the shield and Sam’s wings. She’d even brought some of Bucky’s tactical gear.

“He didn’t kiss anyone,” Natalia said with a knowing grin, earning her another of those wry looks as Steve shook his head. “I kissed him…public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable. And it helped us avoid detection by Rumlow and his crew.”

Rumlow. Threat level delta. Designation handler. Obedience is required in all areas except the field. In the field, Rumlow would follow his orders.

They’d only had to test that theory once. The man had been a cruel son of a bitch.

He’d lead the tact team who took Natalia and Steve into custody. He’d been present when Pierce ordered Bucky wiped. Rumlow remained a potential threat. Had he been eliminated?

“And I told you uncomfortable isn’t the word I would have used for it,” Steve countered.

“You never told me what the word you would have used was then…” The kettle boiled and she tapped Bucky to get him to shift before she slipped away to brew tea. Every action another piece of grace.

“I thought you were good at this interrogation thing,” Steve teased her, tracking her with his gaze much the same way Bucky was.

Water poured, she pivoted to face them and then strolled over to lean against Steve, head tilted. “I’m good at lots of things Rogers, are you sure you want to dare me?”

They’d all been straining, fighting to reclaim those heat infused moments of intimacy before Natalia told them about her plan—before the reality that they would all be separate began to sink in.

Natalia would go after Ross.

Steve would return to face the committee.

Bucky would wait, isolated in the shadows, too far away to help them?

No.

“More,” Steve chuckled and Bucky’s focus reasserted to find Natalia nuzzling Steve’s throat, but it was her fingers tickling along his side that got him talking. “The word I would have used was more.”

Delight filled her smile. “You should really learn to use your words _more_.”

“I’m working on it.” Beneath the flirtation was need, a very real one. Steve couldn’t quite shake the way his knuckles whitened when he gripped her or how he had to steel his breath every time she stepped away.

Theirs was a relationship forged in combat. Much as his and Natalia’s had been. Different circumstances and different fights, but so much of it relied on the need for each other to survive. The confidence born in the quiet moments between firefights.

Laughter around the fire. Tall tales from men drunk on living on another day. The comfort of home staring out at him from Steve’s eyes as he kept careful watch on him. The kind of bond that grew when every minute might be your last, and the subtle disbelief you were still there to have the other. The understanding that Steve knew he hadn’t told him everything, but trusting him to tell him when the time was right.

They’d never had the time. Not until now.

Save for the time between the plummet from the train and Steve appearing in his Bucharest apartment, Steve had always had Bucky. Bucky had always been able to count on Steve—even skinny, little punk Steve. He’d known his best friend would do anything for him. Then he’d slept for decades, safe and isolated from the darkness Bucky had waded through. Then Natalia had been there and she’d shaded in the critical void of his existence.

But before Steve found him, he found Natalia and they’d made that connection. The twisting and looping of bonds tying them to each other. Bucky wanted to know everything…

Tea in hand, Natalia nibbled bites from the sandwiches they shared but her lack of appreciable appetite was another sign of a pending op. She often went hungry, as if the plan ahead of her required all the effort and energy. Had he noticed as much when it had been she and the Soldier?

_“It has been three days, you should eat,” she told him, setting a flavorless hard bar of dense protein and nutrition in front of him. They supplied these when he and Natalia deployed for longer than an overnight. Most of his nutrition came from IVs or blended protein drinks. The tasteless bars had crunch, but that was about it._

_On their last two missions, Natalia had insisted he try different dishes in little cafes as she monitored their targets. Blending in needed to become second nature, and he was more accustomed to watching from a distance but she wanted him to sit with her—the first time she claimed the mark may have spotted her, and he would help diminish the suspicion from the target. The second time, she’d claimed they needed more eyes on the ground, but since all she’d done was feed him bites from her meal under the guise of keeping a cover, he’d had reason to doubt._

_“You have not eaten in the same time,” he’d countered and pushed the bar back to her. “You require more maintenance than I do.” He could go another two days before lack of nutrition became an issue. Water was a more critical concern._

_“Not hungry,” she told him, leaving the bar on the table and stretching to her feet. Her attention went to the window, and she moved to peer through the edge of the curtains without ever ruffling the fabric. The sounds yelling outside had grown steadily throughout the day, along with the gradual approach of remote shelling._

_“We can’t move until nightfall.” She should not require the reminder. “Eat.”_

_She didn’t argue, but she didn’t comply either. Instead, she’d stripped off her clothes and walked into the bathroom. “I’m going to shower while there is still water.”_

_All the arguments fled at the sight of her, toned, and muscled form. The Soldier learned she enjoyed shocking him, so he rarely reacted no matter how much he enjoyed the view. Though when she glanced back at him and winked at him, he knew he hadn’t hidden it enough._

He roused from the memory, almost smiling. Reveling in the sight of her had always been a temptation he had to control. Now, he could look at her to his heart’s content. As if aware of his thoughts, she met his gaze and raised her eyebrows. “Tell me,” Bucky encouraged them.

“What?” She sipped the tea, looking every inch herself in this kitchen in her sweatpants and loose top without any trace of cosmetics and her hair framing her face in all curls.

“Everything you two have done…I don’t know those stories.” He licked his lips. “How you met…what you’ve done…what you thought of Steve.” Everything. He wanted to know.

“Hey, you don’t wanna know what I thought of her?” Steve grinned at him and Bucky stared at him a beat then rolled his eyes. “Oh, so that’s how it is…” 

“If you didn’t think she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever met, you were probably thinking she was the most intimidating. But you always went for that.” Chances were, he'd thought she was both.

Steve didn’t deny it and Natalia just laughed. “Fine, we can tell you all the stories but some of them are boring.”

And the tension ribboning around them eased. Eventually they cleaned up their dishes and retreated back to the suite when yawns began to punctuate most of Natalia’s sentences. It was nearing dawn and they’d been talking all night. Talking. Laughing. Occasionally kissing. Bucky could go for more of the kissing. Natalia let them cuddle her, trading her back and forth when she wasn’t on her feet and miming out some interaction or trading tickling pokes with Steve. She always knew just when to lance away the worry threading through Steve if the topic ventured too close to something uncomfortable.

DC was one of them. The explosion at Lehigh had Steve’s lips white around the edges and his fists clenched, until Natalia wrapped around him from behind to mock her own swooning and the fact Steve had to carry her out of the conflagration. It downplayed the danger, and let her shower him with affection. Then Steve would turn it around, and recount how Natalia cracked a code on another mission—one not even Tony or JARVIS had come up with because it had something to do with ice cream flavors.

It was ridiculous, and perfect.

And he adored them. Adored how they looked after each other. And on some level, he envied their closeness. They’d grown closer since reuniting, or maybe they’d only allowed themselves to considering all the excuses Steve made about before.

Back in Steve’s room, Natalia cracked the curtains to look outside. They faced east and there was a hint of reds and oranges in the distance. The sun was coming up. Sliding behind her, Bucky scanned the perimeter then leaned his head down to tuck his chin on her shoulder.

“You should sleep,” he reminded her.

“I will,” she said with a sigh, and leaned back against him. “This is my favorite part of the day.”

Curiosity filled him, but he waited. Her tone had been almost confidential. Steve emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel before joining them. Natalia pushed the curtain a little wider so he could see.

“I like sunrises,” she admitted in a quiet voice, one reserved for hushed whispers in the dark. “It means I made it another day…and this one means we made it. We’re here. All of us.”

Steve slung an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, then leaned down to press a kiss to Natalia’s cheek. Liking the idea, Bucky kissed her other cheek and she giggled between them. They stood there until the sun began to spill golden light, and Natalia’s eyes were half closed, drifting as she leaned into them.

Stepping back, Steve nodded to the bed and Bucky lifted her easily, she curled into him and tucked her head right against where the metal joined with the flesh of his shoulder. He’d meant to shift her, but she just gave him a sleepy smile. As he settled her into the bed, Steve closed the blinds and the curtains.

Knife on his nightstand, Steve’s shield next to his said they could handle first line of defense if anyone came in. Bucky settled on one side of her while Steve took the other. With a careful hand, he slipped it beneath her pillow to adjust where she’d placed her knife. Hilt down, it would be more readily accessible. But despite weariness, he didn’t want to close his eyes. The room was mostly in shadows, the curtains blocking most of the sunlight.

Rising on an elbow, he studied the way her face relaxed in sleep. All the worry that had tightened around her eyes was gone. She looked almost as young as she had the first time he’d seen her, tied to a chair and forced to defend herself. But instead of that horror, she was safe and secure with Steve watching her back alongside him.

“How you doing?” Steve asked quietly, reminding Bucky that he hadn’t gone to sleep either. Like Bucky, he lay on his side, head propped on one elbow and they were both watching Natalia sleep.

“I don’t know how we let her get on that flight with Stark.”

“I don’t think he’s going to go for it,” Steve said, a tired kind of hope under the words.

“She’ll convince him.” Of that, Bucky had no doubt. “She convinced us.”

“But has she?” Steve eyed him, his expression doubtful. “There’s a hundred ways this could go wrong.”

“We can’t stop her…not without trying to control her.” He would not do that.

“Protecting her isn’t the same as controlling her,” but Steve couldn’t make it sound like he believed the thought. “It’s not even about protecting her at this point. I know she can take care of herself.” No matter how much he disliked that she’d had to, not that Bucky could argue with the sentiment.

“I trained her,” he reminded him. “I honed her instincts, sharpened her skills, and made her fight me every day until she could beat me at least half the time. I put her through hell.”

“And she survived because of it,” Steve reminded. “You’re not the only one who put her through hell. I took away her world—twice. First SHIELD, then the Avengers.”

“The Avengers aren’t gone.” If anything, they seemed even more determined than before. They were fighting to be back together.

“But they’re broken, and we have a chance to fix it. To put it back together. She’s right, Tony’s done all the heavy lifting. He’s more than met us halfway. All she wants is the team together again.” He lifted one of the curls away from her face, careful to not disturb her. Her deep, regular breathing didn’t shift. She’d all but collapsed at the hospital, slept so deeply she hadn’t moved despite he and Steve trading off.

“What do you want?” Bucky asked, because he didn’t have their history with the Avengers or the need to put anything back together. He owed Stark a debt, and he’d repay it somehow. He owed Natalia and Steve everything else.

“I want her safe…but yeah, I want the team back. I want to be out there protecting the world. They said we won the war, but they never talk about what we lost. You and I—we know what it was. The Avengers…sometimes I think of them as kids. They’re so young and so hopeful. Even Tony, with all of his cynicism.”

“He’s a lot like you Steve…neither one of you gives up.” Bucky had. At some point after being found in the snow, his arm gone and bleeding and meeting Natalia, he’d given up to the pain and let them remake him. She’d woken him again.

“Yeah I don’t think either of us would like the comparison much.” But he gave a little shrug, and sighed. “Can we have it Buck? Can we have her, the team and this…this chance?”

“You think she’s going to trade herself for the Avengers.”

“I think she always has,” Steve admitted. “I think she’d trade herself so you could have a chance at a life, and so I can have my best friend back, so Wanda can have a home, Clint can go back to his, and Sam can rebuild the life he had to abandon for us and so Tony won’t be alone. I think she’s been planning this since before London…when we all abandoned her and left her in the cold. She’s never stopped fighting for us.”

It was a terrifying thought. “Then we don’t stop fighting for her—or for you.”

“Or you,” Steve informed him with a frown.

“Steve I have everything I want right here.” She wanted him to gamble this chance to make it right for others, but also for Steve and Tony. He owed them, so he could support the chance. But if it came down to it…he wouldn’t trade Natalia for anyone.

“Then why do it?” Challenge offered.

“Because she needs us.” Challenge accepted.

Steve nodded, then pressed a kiss to her forehead before settling next to her. “Then we better get some sleep.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He sat up to look over at him, wearing a frown. “For what?”

“I keep complicating your life. If I’d told you the truth about Zola, if I’d been less cocky about grabbing your shield on the train…if I’d listened to you on the hellicarrier… if you hadn’t found me in Bucharest, if I’d just kept low. None of this…” The fight with the Avengers, Steve giving up his friends, nearly losing Natalia… none of it would have happened.

“The way I see it, I was complicating your life for a long time before any of that,” Steve reminded him. “The only thing I would trade away is the pain you two suffered. Everything else…we can survive complications, we can fight for them. I’m glad I found you. I’m glad we found her. The rest? We’ll figure it out. Together?”

“ ‘til the end of the line,” he promised.

Steve settled again, but Bucky still didn’t want to close his eyes. He traced the lines of her face, let their breathing soothe him as Steve finally drifted off. Once upon a time, he’d joked that he’d been put on the Earth to keep Steve alive, because the kid did a piss poor job of it. Keeping Natalia alive had been a passion, and one he’d thrown every shred of self he’d had left into accomplishing.

He wanted to wake her with a kiss, and not stop kissing until he’d re-familiarized himself with every inch of her. She’d had to survive for so long without either of them. It was going to take time to adjust that way of thinking.

Then they’d have to make time.

An hour later, he was still studying her when her eyes flickered open. Curving her hand to his cheek, she tugged him down for a sleepy kiss and then she twined her arms around him and nudged him until he lay with his head against her breast and his hand cupped over the scar he’d left on her abdomen and then she was asleep again and he didn’t dare move for worry of waking her.

It was the steady thump of her heart that finally chased away the myriad of ways he could lose her that his mind paraded through his thoughts. The familiar cadence of her breathing soft, and even—of the faintest of snores as her lips parted in sleep accompanied by the deeper breathing from the other side of her. Stretching his hand over, he settled it on Steve’s chest.

When he’d been younger, Steve had been ill so often, Bucky used to keep a hand on him to make sure he didn’t stop breathing in the middle of the night. The contact roused Steve and he turned curving against Natalia’s back and then he put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder before his eyes closed again.

The Soldier studied the pair in front of him. Bucky wasn’t sure how to protect her, but the Soldier understood it and the clarity of it threaded through him, stitching itself into the fabric of his being. The Soldier protected Natalia by training her, then by keeping her in his sights. He trusted her skills, but he made sure his were available. Very little could get through the two of them. Add Steve to the combination, and there would be no gaps in their defense. Beyond the two of them, she had powerful allies in Stark and Barton.

They could make this work. He would have to be there, close enough to intervene. But they could make this work.

Ross had truly picked the wrong woman to persecute.

Settled, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, lulled by the sounds of their breathing and her heart.

The curious feeling spreading through his chest took him time to identify. It alleviated the weight of the past, and buffered him against the worries of the present. The lynchpins were the two in front of him. One, his best friend, a man who wouldn’t let him forget who he’d been, yet content to let him be who he was. The other a woman of incomparable quality, who held him close and kept him steady.

Once upon a time she’d reminded him of what it meant to be human, unearthing him from the layers of programming holding him captive. Measure by measure, she was putting him back together again—Soldier and man. Beyond all of it, though, she gave him hope.

He might not be able to see tomorrow, but he knew they could have one and that was enough.

For now.


	49. You really think he’d be on our side?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has his hands full trying to get all his ducks in a row to get the team back together, but a pair of spiders make it harder than it needs to be in his opinion.

Chapter Forty-Nine

_You really think he’d be on our side?_

Tony

 

Two hours after seeing Clint off with Vision, Tony made an appearance at an exclusive resort long enough to shower, shave, and change before he sat down with the Swiss representative to the UN committee overseeing the Accords. Ilsa Franken proved far more approachable than he expected.

“Mr. Stark, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me here.” The resort’s reputation shielded them from press attention as well as keeping their names and reservations anonymous. She didn’t want this meeting noticed anymore than he did.

“It was my pleasure, Ms. Franken.” He kept it to water and ordered an appetizer for appearances.

“Particularly as you were not available to meet with the committee in person.” The arch delivery suggested a great many things, but accused him of none. Unlike Tony, Ms. Franken indulged in a bottle of very expensive wine.

“These things happen, and while I am free to amend my schedule when an emergency beckons—I’ve found that meetings don’t tend to fall under the same heading.” Exhaustion wore at him, but the meeting had been productive. “Am I given to understand you were not able to attend in person either?”

It had been long enough she might have taken the first flight out of New York, but he didn’t think so. Ms. Franken tended toward understated and unhurried. Must be a Swiss thing.

“Unfortunately, personal matters kept me from attending the deliberations in person, though I was involved.” A cagey response. He could admire that, however, he’d had about two hours of sleep in the last four days. Maybe four hours tops. He had a lot of irons in the fire, and only so many hands.

“I feel obligated to let you know based on past behavioral patterns and how much sleep I’ve managed recently, I’m only likely to be pleasant company for about thirty minutes.” Then he wanted to be in the air and on the way to the chalet. Steve seemed willing to go with the plan, but he needed to lock that in and make arrangements for Nat and Barnes.

“That’s a very polite way of telling me to—how is it you Americans put it? Move my ass?” The woman reminded him of Aunt Peggy, down to the steel gray hair, bright eyes, and no nonsense expression.

“I’d never put it so crudely to you, anyway. Though I can’t say the same about everyone on the committee.” Maybe it was the lack of sleep or her resemblance, but he went in favor of the blunt and honest. She chose not to respond while one of the servers entered their private room with the appetizers, and left after they declined anything else.

“Very well Mr. Stark, I would like to place my cards on the table, can you ensure our privacy?”

He opened his suit jacket to show her the device hanging off his inner pocket. “It’s been assured since you sat down, Ms. Franken.”

“Perfect. For the purposes of this discussion, please call me Ilsa.” All pretenses flowed away as she met his gaze directly. “Do you object to me calling you Tony?”

“Not at all.” He motioned for her to continue. “Please continue.”

“There is a distinctly unfriendly tone circulating amongst the committee members with regard to the Avengers, all of them, yourself included.” The woman didn’t pull her punches. “I am not alone in saying I find the current trend rather uncomfortable if I were pressed to label it with a description. While discord is often the source for great discussions forcing member nations to reach compromise, this discord threatens to undermine the very fabric of the Accords.”

“Well, I won’t say you’re wrong.” He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “I’ve presented my case, and I think I’ve made my feelings on the subject clear. The discord, and disconnection, between the committee and the Avengers will only worsen as long as certain elements are allowed to manipulate the rules in furtherance of their personal agendas.”

“That is the very nature of diplomacy, Tony. We all want something, and we all use the tools at our disposal to make that happen—even you.” She eyed him, and he shrugged. He wasn’t denying it. “That said, you’ve been far less difficult to work with than we’d been lead to believe.”

This time, he grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time my reputation preceded me and got warped on its way in the door. But as you said, let’s be frank. The committee’s current deadlock on the Ross situation is only going to increase tensions, not make them better.”

“As it happens,” she told him after taking a sip of wine. “I agree. And I have another fifty votes who share a similar mind set.”

Fifty-one out of a one hundred and seventeen. That wasn’t enough.

“And as I know you are more than capable of doing the math, let’s discuss how we reach a two thirds majority.”

His thirty minutes of goodwill extended to three hours, but they had a fairly solid plan by the time he walked out of the meeting. Steve Rogers could bring them an easy ten votes. His reputation extended beyond the borders of the U.S., but more than that, the reunification of the Avengers would be a lifting of the black eye their break up delivered to the Accords.

The last eighteen would be the most difficult, but Ms. Franken indicated Wakanda had leaned heavily in their favor and that would likely net them another eight to ten votes if T’Challa could be persuaded to make the case personally. She intended to address the monarch herself, so Tony was excused from having to go to him hat in hand. Not that he wouldn’t do it, but the fact they had any forward momentum had him eager to take advantage of it.

By the time his suit flowed over him, and he took off, he was already working out where they could pick up the last eight to ten votes she’d left in his capable hands. The U.S. was off the table, recusing itself for the time being because it directly involved their representative. Canada was already firmly in their corner, but the UK had blinked as had Germany. The EU as a whole couldn’t agree, but surprisingly, the French seemed far more inclined in their favor.

Maybe Natasha taking out terrorists in broad daylight helped to persuade them. Who knew?

“Boss, Ms. Romanoff asked me to inform you she wanted to travel back to the states with you today.”

Wait…what?

“Can you get Ms. Romanoff on the horn for me?”

Thirty seconds later, Natasha’s voice wrapped around him. “Yes, Tony, I’m perfectly serious.”

“Uh huh. You and Spangles get into a fight or something? There’s easier ways to ditch him, though I really wish you wouldn’t, I need his head in the game for this and not pining for you.” Teasing her about her choice helped to alleviate the twisted little pang in his gut. When he’d told her friendship was enough for him, he’d meant it.

“Steve and I are fine,” she assured him. “No, this is something I need to do and I need to get back into the states.”

“Oh, I see you want me to smuggle you in,” he chuckled. “Planning to hide under the floorboards when we land?”

“Actually I thought I’d parachute out on approach to LaGuardia.” The fact she sounded perfectly sober gave him pause. “If you’re worried about searches and airport security. I’m not going to compromise you.”

“You’re _serious_?” What the hell? “What’s going on Red?”

“Hear me out before you say anything?” Not the first time he’d heard that kind of statement.

“I already don’t like it,” he told her. “But spill. Tell me what’s going on.”

It took less than two sentences for him to interrupt. “Hell no.”

“Tony…”

“Don’t Tony me, Red. I am _not_ turning you over to Ross. I’m trying to get rid of him, not make his fucking year.” One night. He sends them off for one night and she comes up with a suicide op.

“You said you’d listen to me.”

“I said that when I thought you might have a rational plan. Turning yourself over to a power monger as part of some bizarre swap to get the other re-instated is not a plan. And we don’t need to sacrifice you, Clint’s already on his way home. Wilson and Lang will be in the clear in a couple of days. I know Steve can sell the committee with his testimony—he’s Captain freaking America, everyone and their dog loves him. He’ll say some inspiring words, fire them all up and then we’re off to the races.”

“They’re never going to let me come back Tony. Even if you got the committee to vote unanimously to remove Ross tomorrow, the damage has already been done.”

“Nope,” he argued. “I don’t accept that. Ross is the one with the boner to get you in a cell.”

“He doesn’t want me in a cell, Tony. He probably wants to harvest me for parts while dangling me for chum to get Bruce out of hiding, or to force you to do something dramatically unwise, or all of the above.” It was cold, calculated, and so damn believable Tony bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

“That’s why _you_ have to be the one to hand me over.”

“Yeah, no…” He dragged out the last syllable. “Still not seeing how that helps _anyone_ especially you.” Hand her over. “You know,” he said, charging forward before she could respond. “Didn’t we just do this? Didn’t we just hand you over to some psychopaths who wanted to use you for their warped take on Bill Nye the Science Guy?”

He’d had to watch her stare off blankly as they slapped her around. The fact the plan worked didn’t ease the nausea of discoveries that followed or the horrifying moment when she’d gotten knocked into the chair. It had taken he, Rogers, and Barnes to keep it from playing blender with her brain.

“No, we’ve got a plan,” he finished off. “We’re sticking to it.”

A beat of silence stretched out and his heart hammered too loudly in his ears. Too much adrenalin in his tired body and he could feel every beat of his pulse in every extremity.

“Are you done?” Quiet, composed, and utterly rational. Some days he wanted to just piss her off—just once. He wanted to rattle that composure, get under her skin, and see her eyes light up with the impatient fire he’d almost managed back when first met her.

Scowling, he clenched his teeth and increased the power to his thrusters. This conversation would be better in person. “Yes,” he hissed out through clenched teeth. “I’m done. So I’ll see you all in about an hour…”

“Tony.”

Dammit. “Red?”

“You have done every damn thing you could do to make right what we all broke.” Her faith and appreciation were noted. “You’ve taken all the risks, while still following through with your word. I’d very much like the chance to do that myself.”

“Then we do something else, start a charity in your name—send kids to college or focus on orphaned girls and getting them out of bad situations. I will cheerfully fund it fully. What we don't do is turn you in for torture and dissection.” God, she told him Ross probably wanted to take her apart to see how she worked and he was supposed to be the one who… “Natasha, how can you ask me to be the one to betray you?”

“Well, it has a certain poetry to it. It would secure you absolutely in the eyes of the committee members. Ross couldn’t paint you as the rebel with an ax to grind if you deliver to them the world’s most wanted. Ross isn’t going to cooperate and turn me over to a world court or even make a show of The Hague. He’s going to want to question me himself, and he’s the type to lord it over me. And he’ll be so annoyed with you, he’s going to want me to flip on you.”

Again. Perfectly reasonable. And utterly insane. “Let me guess, you flip because duplicity is your middle name and what? He brings me up on charges they can’t prove and makes a fool out of himself?”

“Something like that, but maybe a bit less heavy handed. Give me some credit, Tony.”

“I give you all the credit, Red. Tell me, are Steve and Barnes aware of your little plot?”

“Friday, can you put us on speaker please…” There was a beep and Friday alerted him to the loss of privacy with a corner message. “Tony wants to know if you’re both aware of what I want to do?”

“Yes,” both men answered and he blinked.

“And you’re _okay_ with it?” Steve Rogers, the man who upended the entire team to save his best friend was okay with turning his girl in? Was there some flavorless alcohol in the water he’d had or had he finally pushed past the point of exhaustion to reach hallucinatory status?

“No,” Steve answered after a moment. “But she’s not wrong. We all have our strengths, it’s what made us a great team. Nat knows people better than all of us, even you.” Yeah he could read people, and he knew how to push their buttons. She got them moving without them even realizing she was doing it.

“Barnes? Please tell me you at least have some primal caveman impulse to stop her?” If she convinced Rogers, this was already a losing proposition. Steve preferred plans that involved all of then, with clear coverage of their flanks. Not that he wouldn’t risk them in the name of the mission, but only when he had no other choice.

 _Like when Ultron took her…_ The nasty little thought tickled the back of his mind. Rogers focused his efforts on getting back to New York to stop Tony’s work on the cradle rather than pursuing her. He’d prioritized what he thought was right over her safety.

It irked him.

“Yes, I have the impulse to stop her but I won’t exercise it,” Barnes said after a protracted silence. “Natalia’s going to do this whether we assist or not. If we assist we can mitigate the damage and be in a position to help.”

He could feel the headache gathering force behind his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re planning to go stateside now, too instead of _following the plan_ and taking it easy until we have your pardon status resolved.” It wasn’t a question.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Brooklyn again, maybe taking in the sights at Coney Island.” Great. Now the tin soldier was a funnyman.

“I can’t take all of you back on one flight.”

“We thought Nat would fly with you, and Bucky and I will come on the quinjet, that way we slip in quietly and lay low but we’re right there. I’ll even meet with the committee if it will help take the pressure off you and Nat.” 

Yep. He still wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s the best idea we have…”

“No, Red, it isn’t. The best idea we have is for you and Barnes to go work on your tans, get some real rest and relaxation in, maybe yoga and meditation. Rogers and I can keep working on the committee and once Ross is out of the way, and we get Barnes cleared, we start working on your pardon.” Who was he kidding? As much as he hated to admit it, the roadblocks where Nat was concerned wouldn’t go away with Ross’ removal. The only thing that might help was getting the shoot on sight orders lifted, and buying them breathing room.

“I still violated the Accords Tony, and there’s bound to be some punishment for that.”

“The last I checked they were sending people to the Raft.”

“But that’s not in the Accords. I read them. Twice.” So had he. “That was Ross. The Accords actually don’t list a punishment for violation beyond forced retirement.”

“Red… forced retirement could mean a lot more unpleasant things than a pension and a lifetime subscription to the knitting channel.”

“True…the knitting could be fun though. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do it.”

If he weren’t flying, he would bang his head against a wall. He might get further. “I’ll give you a ride back to the states, and you can move back into your floor at the Tower. They’ve already searched it twice, so it’s a little spartan, but we can make it work. But I won’t turn you in. Don’t ask me to.” As it was, he half-debated adjusting his trajectory and flying back in the suit.

They still had the quinjet. She could get stateside with or without his help. She was asking for his help.

“I won’t,” she said finally. “Just get me stateside and I’ll do the rest.”

The word no hovered on his tongue, but he bit it back. “Fine. Lemme talk to Capcicle… privately, please.”

“See you soon,” she murmured, and he waited before he saw the signal go private again.

“It’s me, Tony.”

“Just you and me, yeah?” If Barnes were nearby, he could hear.

“I’m upstairs in the suite, they went outside for a bit.”

“Good.” Blowing out a breath, he adjusted his course fractionally. Friday was tracking all radar signals, but his suit wasn’t stealth so much as he was flying beneath the signal radius, on a circuitous route to avoid visual detection. The stealth suit was scrap metal after the last few days, but he’d get another one built.

“Tony?”

“Working on it,” he said, snapping out of the reverie. “Even odds on her plan?”

“Not a betting man,” Steve told him. “But I agree with what she said weeks ago…it’s more important that we all stay together than how we stay together. She wanted to keep a hand on the wheel with the Accords. My choices put her in the position where she had to let go, or watch them run me over.”

Good analogy, except...

“Our choices Cap.” He’d accept his responsibility. Natasha had been looking after him every bit as much as she had the rest of the team. They just hadn’t left her with many places to go.

“Fine, agreed. But if it was our choices that put her there, then I think we owe it to her to let her choice guide us.”

What had he said to Barton? _“At arrowpoint. I don’t think they call it recruitment when you only have two options.”_

“Think she feels like she has no other choices?”

It was Steve’s turn to go quiet, then he sighed. “I don’t know, maybe. I told Bucky I think she’s willing to trade herself for all of us—for the chance to reform the Avengers, to bring us all back in…to get you out of a tight spot, to give Bucky a chance at freedom, to get Clint home…”

“What about you? What is she getting back for you?”

“A place to belong. The team. A chance to make things right with you—Bucky safe.”

All good points except… “I’m working on most of that already. We’re close. It’ll take a little more time on Barnes, but it’s not an ideal situation. We want someone else taking point on that, because we want it to be incontrovertible.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me why we’re not calling Clint and siccing him on her?” Because of all of them, Barton could do it.

“Because he’s hurt, badly and she blames herself. Because if we do that, then we’re no better than all the others in her life who’ve robbed her of her choices. Because…” He released a strained laugh, a hard puff of air so laden with emotion it made Tony wince. “Because her friends are willing to lay down their lives for what we think is right. We have no right to ask her to do any less. At the end of the day, this isn’t about us… no matter how much I want her to choose to stay safe as hell for us, she’s never going to sit idly by.”

Tony sighed. “Cap… the next time someone asks you for an argument to keep a friend from doing something we really don’t want her to do—don’t make her case for her.”

He chuckled. “I know…but I think I just convinced myself even more than I had last night when we talked about it.”

“Well if I can talk her out of it, I’m going to.” He wasn’t sure how yet, but he’d come up with something. If he trusted Fury, he’d call him. “Still tempted to call Barton.”

“She’s not just disappearing and doing this without a word to any of us.” Which was a hell of a lot more than she’d been willing to do when they finally found her. “She wants our support. If she gets in too deep, she may need it.”

But what he didn’t have to say was how used to getting out of jams she was. She’d been doing it on her own for a long time. “Then we better have it together—I’ll be there soon.”

The rest of the flight he went over details about the best committee members to approach, and sent a message to Rhodey asking him to take a look. Vision and Clint were still en route, but they would be landing in the next couple of hours. Helen Cho was on site at the compound along with her handpicked medical staff. Word had been sent to Laura Barton, and Vision would handle their transportation once Clint was secure.

Pepper and the legal team had finalized the paperwork for the house arrest and subsequent pardons for Barton, Wilson, and Lang. She was also happy to report there had been some forward momentum for Barnes—the Department of Defense had filed an intention to interdict the charges against him.

Everything lined up neatly.

Maybe…maybe it would be enough to talk Natasha down. They had a long flight ahead of them. Plenty of time to convince her, right?

 

 

One hour into the flight—four and a half hours after he arrived at the chalet—he leaned back in the seat across from her and watched as she studied her laptop. He hadn’t seen a sign of her computer in days. While he could tell she was working, she seemed like she was ignoring him. Worse, he wasn’t sure how to broach the topic of Ross without boxing her in a corner, taking away her choices, or patronizing her.

Her farewell to Rogers and Barnes hadn’t been as affectionate as he’d expected, but both men seemed to be holding themselves rigid with worry. She’d kissed each one, a light brush, swift contact, and then withdrawn before walking away. Even more startling, they’d let her go. On the drive from the chalet, she hadn’t turned around or looked. If anything, she seemed utterly composed. He couldn’t get a read on her, all her barriers were up.

How did he crack through the façade she’d armed herself with?

“Tony,” she murmured, her fingers flying over the keys intermittently. “I can hear the wheels turning over here. What’s on your mind?”

“What are you working on?”

Normally when he flew, he had two flight attendants to handle any meal prep or service he might need. In the past, that had gone as far as dancing and stripping. Fortunately, he'd grown up some. This time around, he’d sent them up to their compartment so he could have privacy. Natasha sauntered out of the bedroom once he was alone. Getting her aboard the plane had been painfully easy and left him concerned for airport security. Only trusting she could do the job kept him from double-checking before the flight took off.

Since then, she’d settled into the seat and gone to work.

“Doing some research on Smith. He used to work for SHIELD. I recognized him, but he was a lower level agent. Only level 3 and he did some scut work, nothing too classified.”

He’d missed that part. “And he was the guy faking Ivan’s voice?”

“Yep…and running around calling himself Piotr Ivanovich.”

“The bounty…”

“I found his employee file, it’s sparse. Very sparse.”

Tony pulled out his phone and glanced at her laptop. “May I?”

She spared him a look, then typed a couple of things and nodded. “Bluetooth is on.”

Accessing the laptop, he routed her screen through the phone and then threw it up on one of the holograph screens. The file wasn’t just slim as she indicated. Birthdate, parents deceased, foster care, college scholarship, studies in criminal justice and psychology… “This just reads like ideal SHIELD agent, no ties, focus on critically useful areas for an intelligence agency…but there’s no commendations in his file, his reviews are average.”

“He’s utterly unremarkable. No one would look at him twice.” She crossed one leg over the other, and stared at the files as Tony scrolled through them.

“Then why did you?” He glanced at her. “You recognized him, and you know despite what he pulled I’d have a hard time describing him. Average build, average height, average hair… just… average. Why did he stand out for you?”

“He was always in the gym when I was there for several months,” she told him with a shrug.

“So? He might have worked out when you did.” He doubted it, but he’d rather hear it from her.

“No, I never had a set schedule. I always varied it unless I was training lower level agents which Nick didn’t make me do often.”

“Did you scare the baby agents too much?”

“Maybe.” A smile twitched her lips and she shrugged, not rising to the bait. “But this guy was there a lot in the months before SHIELD came down. It was because he was there so often I noticed him. Didn’t matter what time of day or night…I dismissed it thinking he was just a newbie with a crush. It happened, most of them got over it after some time at SHIELD.”

Because they were idiots. “Point. Why are we digging deeper on him? He’s dead.” She’d pulled up another file; this one included his passport usage and travel data over the last thirty-six months. He’d done a lot of back and forth to Eastern Europe—including Budapest and Prague, some to Asia, four to Italy, and a handful to England, Nothing startling. In fact, none of his trips involved Russia directly. But he could easily take a train from every single one of his Eastern European destinations. The key locations for the facilities they shut down were in line with what they knew.

“John Smith is an alias. So was Piotr Ivanovich, but I’m not finding anything else on him, not even with the prints I lifted from his wallet. This is rock solid background work, but it’s just this side of perfect as far as his history goes. Not so perfect as to make you look twice, but close enough to make him a good fit for SHIELD recruitment. But when we bring in new agents at SHIELD, they go through academy training—operations or the science divisions. Even converts from other agencies go through some form of orientation and adaptation.”

“Did you?”

“Yes it was six months in isolation with debriefing and deprogramming, they weren’t trusting me with the green agents.” She tapped a finger against the computer. “But look, in none of these files do you see any history of orientation, training, or time spent at the academy for certification. He just popped up at the Triskelion like he’d been there the whole time and no one noticed.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t notice for the right reasons. My bad.”

“Again, Red. I get it, this is fishy but what’s the point? The guy is dead, he’s not going to bother you again. Hopefully the bounty will fall by the wayside without him around to fund it, and even if it doesn’t—they have nowhere to deliver you.”

“Unless I’m right, and he was working with or for Ross.”

That jerked him up, and he swung the chair to look at her. “What ties did you find?”

“None. No contacts. No obvious links between known associates.” She folded her hands against her abdomen, her gaze on the holo screens. “Nothing.”

“But you think they were working together?” He frowned, reviewing the data. Sometimes all you needed was one tiny thread.

“Because my gut says so. Because it’s been bugging me that he said I was going to make him a lot of money. He dug himself in deep with two enhanced and unstable sociopaths with every intention of double-crossing them and escaping with me under his thumb. Why? And to go where? Who was going to pay him?”

When she put it that way. Tony folded one arm against his chest, and ran his free hand against his goatee. It was an unsettling thought, and she wasn’t wrong. It fit. “He showed up at SHIELD a month after New York.”

“Hmm-hmm. A month after the other guy made a splash in the news. The first incident in over fourteen months since Harlem.”

Tony pushed back in his own chair. “I met Ross then…right after that went down. He was drinking in a bar…I went to tell him about the Avengers Initiative. Wanted to get him on our side, see what we could do about the other guy. He’d taken out the Abomination before it could kill more people. Might be worth a look.”

“A year later, New York and there’s Bruce again. Month after that, Smith shows up.” She shifted back to her computer, and pulled up another set of files. “During the time between the initial incident at Culver University and Bruce’s subsequent sojourn in South America, I intercepted and diverted a half dozen hunts by Ross and his people looking for Bruce.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” Tony said, swinging to look at her.

“It was one of my SHIELD tasks. What you thought I was only your SHIELD shadow?” The curve of her smile teased him. “It’s pretty much why I knew he was in India.”

“Did Ross know you were hiding him?”

“Pretty sure he figured it out. Nick sent me to give him a message once.”

Tony didn’t want to know. He just shook his head. “You’d think Fury would have done that himself.”

“Plausible deniability,” she said with a little shrug.

“How did you keep him off Bruce afterward? He didn’t drop out of sight again.” How had she stayed his hand?

“Didn’t have to—he was living and working at the Tower. You had layers of insulation around him. After New York, you were pretty much untouchable.”

He smirked. “Nice fairytale.”

Another shrug. “Not making that part up, Tony. Most of your competitors—AIM, HammerTech—proved to be corrupt and were no longer on the field. That left Stark Industries as not only the top company in the field, but the only one. If Ross incited you, that could have cost him a lot of political capital. So he played the long game…”

“And he sent this guy in to watch you and find a weakness?”

“Maybe. Again…they couldn't touch you, can’t take out Thor without at least the same level of force you’d need for the other guy, and Thor came and went. Hard to pin down. Steve’s not going to play ball with these guys, he barely wanted to play it with SHIELD. And Clint was taking a sabbatical and getting his head back together. Tech scrubbed me from a lot of the footage of New York, shoring up my anonymity, but I was there and people saw me. So, Ross links me to Bruce, knows I’ve been keeping him away, but now Bruce is there—in reach, but still untouchable. You target the weakest link, and look for an opportunity.”

“That’s pretty cold,” Tony muttered, and then swung away from the screens to study her. “And that would be going to an awful lot of trouble.”

“Didn’t say it was a good plan, but it’s definitely the longer term one. All he needed to do was wait for us to make a mistake, and we did.”

The fall of SHIELD, Nat releasing the files, the Accords, the airport fight, Nat on the run, and the charges being brought against her. “That’s a hell of a lot of coincidences to get him to the point where it was useful.”

“But it’s _smart_.” The way she emphasized the word spoke to her admiration. “He’s getting nowhere with Bruce anyway, and after Sokovia, Bruce is off the grid. Not with us, not showing up anywhere. Even I can’t find him.”

“Did you look?” He frowned. Post Sokovia they’d all been a little preoccupied, her and Steve with the new team while he and Pepper had been on the edge of an implosion.

“For a little while, but…if Bruce wanted to be gone, I wasn’t going to make him come back. I knew why he left, and I had to respect it.” But she didn’t have to like it.

“I spent some time trying to find him, tracking the stealth quinjet.” Foiled by his own tech. “I modified the new one to include a beacon I could activate remotely.”

“How do you activate a beacon on a stealth jet if you don’t know where it is?” She frowned. “And for that matter, if you can activate the beacon, that means you can get a signal to it and that wouldn’t be very stealthy.”

With a grin, he spread his hands. “That’s proprietary technology, Ms. Romanoff.”

“You know that’s going to make me want to just figure it out, don’t you, Mr. Stark?” God, he loved that she was always up to play or to tease.

“Gotta keep you interested in me somehow.” His gaze dipped to her wrist. She’d dressed conservatively, black pants, boots, a loose emerald green top with a high collar and a sleeveless jacket that would look great in a ski lodge. Just the right side of couture to fit in at a private airport. She'd applied very light cosmetics if any, and all her bruising was gone.

The bracelet he’d given her was still fastened to her wrist.

“Tell you what, you still owe me the info on the backdoor you exploited and later fixed, and we still have a bet for our date.”

Surprise flickered across her eyes.

“You’re not whelching are you?” Granted Ross wasn’t gone, but they were still working on it.

“No, but…might have to find a way to explain that to Steve and James.”

The opening he’d been waiting for, but he didn’t take it. “We’ve got plenty of time, he’s not gone yet. So you show up for the date, and I’ll tell you how I can activate a beacon on a stealthjet in stealth mode.”

The corner of her mouth tipped and she chuckled. “Fair deal.” She tracked her gaze back to the information on the holo screen. Closing it all with a gesture, he nudged her laptop lid down.

“You can’t get water from a stone. Let it sit. Friday, you have the gist of the search, yeah?”

“Yes, Boss. I’ve begun reviewing all the data retrieved from the various facilities, cross referencing the dates of Smith’s travel as well as Ross, to look for patterns. I’ll notify you when I have anything.”

“See,” Tony grinned. “Friday has it, so we can take it easy.”

“You’re exhausted,” she told him and he made a face.

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Lucky for you, you have a bed on board. You can get some sleep…”

“Or we can eat, and hang out like normal people for a while.” Even as he said it he smirked.

“Tony, you fly around in a suit of armor you have managed to miniaturize as nano technology, and even if you didn’t, we’re currently crossing the Atlantic on your private jet, which has far more advanced modifications than most standard jets. There’s nothing remotely normal about you.”

“Thank you,” he acknowledged graciously. “I could say the same about you except for the jet, and the nanotechnology.”

She laughed.

“I could make you an omelet,” he offered. He was pretty good at those. “I’m not asking the staff to do anything for us because well, you’re not supposed to be here. So you like omelets yeah?”

The humor eased from her expression and she frowned. “The last time I was on a plane with you and you made an omelet, you were trying to tell Pepper you were dying.” She lifted her brows, studying with eyes that saw far too much.

“Not dying this time. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers.

“Okay. Then what are you worried about discussing with me?”

“That obvious, huh?” He didn’t really like being transparent. It was unnerving.

“No,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “Not at all.”

“Let me make you an omelet, let’s pretend for a little while that we’re not who we are. We can—be anyone. Just…take a break from us.” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking her for, but at the same time he didn’t want to spend the next few hours dissecting Ross, discussing their mistakes, or plotting their next op. He was tired.

Really tired.

“Okay,” she agreed, and closed her laptop all the way. “Who do you want me to be?”

“Old college friend…we had a steamy one night stand in…sophomore year. Great sex, not a lot of long term romantic potential. Better friends.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Great sex, huh?”

“Fantastic. Best you’d ever had.”

“Oh just the best I’d had. What about you?”

“It was good.” He winked, and she rewarded him with another grin. “Fine, it was pretty spectacular for me too, very hot. Couldn’t get enough.”

“Until you did.”

“Well five times in one night will do that to a guy.”

She snorted, leaning back in the chair and watching him. “So we haven’t seen each other since that night?”

“Oh no, we saw each other all the time. We’re the best of friends, but we’ve been working in different countries so it’s all video conferences and text messages. First time we’ve gotten to steal away just the two of us in years.” He stood, and stripped off his jacket before rolling up his sleeves and nodding toward the galley. “Come on, I owe you an omelet.”

“What’d we study in school?” She leaned against the entrance to the galley, arms folded as he located eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and oh, ham. That would work.

“MIT baby, all the way. Mechanical engineering, computational science and electrical engineering for me…let’s see…you focused on humanities, gender studies, Russian and Eurasian studies, languages, and…you hack right?” He ticked them off as he cracked several eggs to fill a bowl.

“Well I don’t know, do I?”

For a moment, he paused to consider her. Amusement curved her lips, but the shadows in her eyes reminded him this was only a game. “Yeah, you did. You were a genius. Just like me. It’s why we got along so well.”

“Good, I’d hate to think I slowed you down.”

“Ah-ah,” he chided, pointing a finger at her. “We’ve got complimentary skillsets, intellects, and attitudes. Makes for a good combination. Got it?”

“Noted. So tell me, what have you been up to since the last time we were together?”

Satisfied she was still playing, he indulged the fantasy. “Building the company from millions in revenues to billions. Everyone gave me grief, you know, inherited wealth doesn’t tend to last past one to two generations, but I wanted to do more than maintain it.”

“You never really cared about money though,” she argued. “It was always about the challenge. What can you do, how can you make it work.”

Beating the eggs until they were a little foamy, he chuckled. “You may have me there. Too bad I can’t apply the same concepts to my personal life.”

“Depends on how you look at it. You don’t separate from your work. What you do is very much tied up in who you are. I doubt that’s changed since school.” A little too insightful for a game, but he could appreciate it.

They danced through a myriad of topics personal and professional. He was especially fond of her taking a year off work to find herself though his arrival had interrupted her contemplations on what to do next. Armed with the omelets, he nudged the fridge with his toe so she could retrieve the water bottles before they made their way back out to the little table.

“Well, that sabbatical was why I had to come and find you.”

“Yeah?” She settled into the seat and inspected the omelet he set in front of her. Granted, it was a little ragged around the edges, and the flip hadn’t gone the way he liked, but the scent was pretty appetizing.

“I want you to come work for me. Like I said, complimentary skill sets—you know me. You don’t put up with my crap, and I…I like having you around.”

She divided away a section of omelet and regarded him as she took a bite. “Not sure if I’m really looking for that much of a change right now…”

“Is it really a change if you aren’t employed?”

“Yes,” she told him. “And the omelet is very good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” But the playfulness had eddied lower. “How is it a change?”

“I don’t answer to anyone now. Go where I want, when I want.” Which fit, to a point. “And I might have plans for the foreseeable future, so it’s probably not a good time to consider a major shift.”

“Personal plans? Or professional?”

“Both, if it works out.” Skepticism marred the phrase, and she laid the fork aside. Lacing her fingers together, she rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Tony…talk to me now. Not the cover.”

“Don’t go to Ross. I know you want to end this, and you have every right to stick it to him for what he’s done. But you’re not an expendable asset. You never have been. My way might take longer, but it’s more likely to result with you still here on the far side.” He got it. He really did. While he might resent how neatly she boxed all of them in with her logic, he couldn’t help but admire her tenacity and determination.

“I appreciate that. But it’s my turn.”

He frowned.

“You’ve been protecting us. You gave us a safe place. You’re taking care of James, and bringing Steve in from the cold. You helped me save Clint. It’s my turn, Tony. It would be…the height of hubris to think Ross is only after me, for me. He’s not, I’m not the only target. But I’m in a unique position to protect you. To protect the team.” She locked gazes with him. “Let me help you.”

“It’d help me to know you aren’t out there alone.”

“I’m not alone.” The quiet revelation rippling across her expression soothed over the jagged edges of worry stabbing at him. “Neither are you. We’re all in this together. But just like I can’t fly in and take down the heavy artillery, you’re not as suited to the stealthy infiltration and manipulation.”

“I had to try,” he admitted, though he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.

“And I adore you for it. But this is going to work…I have a good feeling about it.”

The unsettled feeling that had motivated him to look for her in the first place spiced by bites of guilt nibbling along his conscience resurged in force. “Where are you going to go when you’re done with Ross?”

She leaned away, settling into the chair, mask firmly in place. Even the shadows in her eyes seemed to still.

That was it.

“Ross is the last piece really. We take him off the board, and the path for all of you is clear.”

“And you’re still out in the cold.”

“I’m Russian, Tony. Or I used to be. I’ve never really come in from the cold.”

Cracking the bottle of water open, he eyed her. “What about Rogers and Barnes? Are you okay with leaving them?” It was a low blow. He’d avoided confirming what he’d seen with his own eyes, and it wasn’t out of jealousy or disappointment. Not entirely. She was his friend, first and foremost and being hers meant he got to protect her. He _wanted_ to protect her.

She didn’t say anything and he sighed.

“You know he knows,” he advised her. “Steve for sure, and I’m betting Barnes has an idea. They’re going to look for you.” He would look for her.

“That’s for tomorrow,” she told him firmly. “Let’s take care of today first.” Exhaling softly, she turned her gaze to the window and stared out at the clouds.

Enough, he told himself. He’d made his case, but he wouldn’t back her into a corner. Natasha always knew where the exits were, better than all of them. “What do you need?”

“I’m good,” she told him, and she touched her fingers to the bracelet on her wrist. “This isn’t about the big guns.”

They were an hour outside of New York when Friday came over the speaker system. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.” The holo screen came up and it showed a tracker of Peter Parker nowhere near his school, but actually aboard a ferry in the harbor. The FBI sting.

Dammit.

“Call him.”

Nat gave him an inquiring look, but he touched a finger to his lips and she nodded.

“Connected Boss.”

“—don’t answer…” Peter’s voice warbled up a note.

“Mr. Parker. Got a sec?”

“Uh. I’m actually at school.”

Tony stared at the locator and shook his head. He’d turned over the details Peter had given him on the arms and munitions dealers he’d been following. They had set up a buy and planned to scoop the whole crew. It took care of some dangerous people, and kept Peter out of trouble.

Or at least it was supposed to.

“Nice work in D.C.” He baited the trap, since the kid was already lying to him.

“Okay.”

Friday was giving him a rundown on how many people were aboard the ferry, as well as tagging into FBI communications. Nat shifted, studying the holo screen, and then she enlarged the positioning data Friday mined from Karen. Her drones had scanned some dangerous contents with Chitauri energy signatures inside a pickup truck aboard the ferry as well.

 **“** My dad never really gave me a lot of support...” Tony said, rising and heading toward the rear of the plane. “And I’m just trying to break the cycle of shame.”

“Uh,” Peter stammered, and his respiration had increased along with his pulse. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”

“Don’t cut me off when I’m complimenting you. Anyway, great things are about to—” The ferry horn blared loudly across the connection. “What is that?”

“Uh, I’m at band practice.” Another lie.

“That’s odd.” He said not bothering to disguise the warning in his voice. “Happy told me you quit band six weeks ago. What’s up?” Come on kid, stop lying.

“I gotta go. Uh, end call.”

“Hey…” But the call ended.

“He’s in trouble,” Natasha said.

“Yes, he is.” Dammit. “Friday get me the best flight path and trajectory, alert the FBI their operation might be compromised and I’m…” He hesitated and looked at Nat.

“Go,” she told him. It was exactly what he wanted to do, but… “Go,” she repeated. “Go take care of spider-kid.”

“You know,” he told her, activating the suit to start flowing over him. “He’s another reason you need to stick around. Kid needs some handling and clearly, I’m not the best role model.”

His face plate snapped into place and all the systems came up. Nat grinned at him. “I don’t think you’re doing too badly.”

“Oh, not at all. That’s why he’s in the middle of doing exactly what I told him not to do.” And lying to him about it to boot.

He could almost take the need to fix things, but the lying? After everything else?

“Be safe Tony.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he emphasized the last, then sent a message to the crew to continue course as planned, and land. Hopefully he’d be back before Nat could disembark. “And Red?”

“Yeah?”

“Do better than I’d do.” With that, he slipped through the hatch to the chamber he’d designed to exit his plane without depressurizing it. They were already dropping altitude. He dropped, free falling a couple of hundred feet to get well below the plane.

Engaging his repulsors, he arced away from the plane on a course for the ferry. “Live fire, Boss. Multiple weapons and targets.”

Tony switched to combat mode in the HUD.

“High energy dispersion beam…Boss, the ferry is being split in half. Threat to civilians extremely high, more than eighty cars aboard and about four hundred and fifty passengers.”

“Alert the Coast Guard, get rescue on site, and let’s give it all the juice.”

Everything except the job bled out of his mind as he redoubled their pace. They were still ten minutes away. They needed that to be there faster.

“Karen and Peter are attempting to bind the ferry with webbing to avoid the split, but the ferry’s cut right down to the hull, Boss. Injury reports and 911 calls coming in.”

“Faster, Friday. Let’s go faster.” He maxed out the push. “Launch Exo Support, and get it out there.”

“Activating Exo Support.” A monitor in the corner detailed the initiation of the launch. The drones were designed for bridge and tunnel support, and to bolster buildings taking heavy structural damage. The ferry would be a new one, but if it could help him hold it together, he could do a weld job to seal the hull.

“Fires in several locations aboard the ferry and smoke, secondary threat to passengers. Not all passengers in the clear.”

“I see it.” Billows of black smoke piped into the air above the ferry and it was like something out of a nightmare. He could actually see through the canyon of the leaning halves of the ferry crisscrossed with spider webs and one distinct blue and red suit fighting to keep it together.

“Spider-Man has executed a plan that Karen estimates is about ninety-eight percent successful in stabilizing the decay, but structural integrity is failing.” The Exo Support was less than a minute out, and Tony was right behind them. “Open flooding on lower decks. Danger imminent.”

The gap was widening, but the exo support drones locked onto the sides and Tony got into position against the starboard side other. “Bring it together, carefully.” He watched the pounds per pressure force, they had to keep the two halves from drifting apart without buckling the already stressed hull.

“Stabilizing.” Friday reported. “We’ve still got some flooding on the lower decks and cargo hold.”

“I’m on it.” Trusting the drones to do their job, he angled into the ferry and spotted Peter through one of the port windows as he landed on the seating and stared around him in wonder.

“What the hell…”

“Hi, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?” He didn’t even try to mask the sarcasm.

The drones were holding, so he flew down, dropping into the cargo area, looking for the primary fracture to the ferry’s hull. Shouts came from above, but Friday detailed the Coast Guard had already deployed rescue operations. Getting the ferry sealed was his first priority.

“Dial the intensity down on the lasers, we want to seal this baby not break it the rest of the way.” It took time and precision, but he started at one end of the ferry and made his way along welding the structural crack. The ferry itself would likely have to be scrapped in the long run. He’d send down some structural engineers, and offer to fund a new one—and a stronger one to help prevent issues like this in the future.

Peter swung into the cargo hold. “Uh, Mr. Stark? Hey, Mr. Stark. Could I do anything? What do you want me to do?”

Irritation flamed through Tony as he neared the end of the welding. Peter hadn’t listened to him, he’d hacked his suit, and he’d lied. He’d overridden the protocols Tony put in place to prevent his involvement in these kind of catastrophes.

“I think you’ve done enough.” He scanned the weld, it would hold long enough to evacuate the ferry and tow it to dock. Angry enough to start yelling and refusing to be his father, he angled out of the hold and headed out to check the external hull. Rescue boats and helicopters were on approach, and there were still fires to be put out on deck.

Dammit Peter.

Ninety minutes later, Tony retracted the drones and sent them back to the Tower, and left the remaining mop up to the rescue crews. “Where’s the kid?”

Friday gave him the location, and he adjusted his flight path to head straight for him. His initial fury had cooled, but he was far from calm. Pissed off didn’t begin to cover the worry and outright fear that Peter’s feckless choices were going to get someone killed—including himself.

“Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch: I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.”

Peter had the grace to hang his head, even if he was sitting out in broad daylight _without_ his mask on. The whole point of the mask was to keep his identity out of the papers and away from people like Ross. **“** Is everyone okay?”

“No thanks to you.”

“No thanks to me?” Peter leapt down and glared at him. “Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it. But you didn’t listen. None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me. If you even cared, you’d actually be here.” His voice cracked and climbed as he ranted.

Tony set the suit to hover before opening it and stepping down. Peter’s eyes widened as he strode toward the kid. “I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? Do you know that I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a 14-year-old kid.”

“I’m fifteen,” Peter argued.

He’d been putting out fires on two different continents, fighting to get his team back together, courting diplomats to find an equitable solution to get rid of the sociopath hunting his friends—someone who would _love_ to get their hands on the same kid in front of him, and he was going to pull crap like this _and_ try to argue that he was right? Tony’s temper snapped. “No, this is where you zip it, all right? The adult is talking. What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you. And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

He had enough of it.

 **“** Yes, sir.”

 **“** Yes.” Getting his breathing under control, Tony tried to wrestle his temper back toward reason.

“I, I’m sorry.” Peter stammered.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Not even close. They were all sorry. Buildings came down. People got their backs broken. Friends ended up on the run and nearly dead. No. Sorry. Didn’t. Cut. It.

 **“** I understand. I just wanted to be like you.”

The migraine behind his eyes redoubled. “And I wanted you to be better.” Fine, he didn’t always get what he wanted. His mistake. He’d clean up. “Okay, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back.”

“For how long?” Peter’s whole expression crumpled.

“Forever.”

Shock widened the teen’s eyes and tears welled within them. Tony steeled himself. It was better this way. Reckless and dangerous to expose a kid like him to the kind of threats their world offered. He’d violate the Accords and then they’d expect Tony to hunt him or worse, they’d snag him themselves and try to do to him what had been done to Natasha or to Barnes.

Not on his watch.

Hell no.

As Peter shook his head, Tony eyed him. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s how it works.”

“No. No. No. Please, please please…”

He couldn’t bend or fold, no matter how much the kid was hurting. “Let’s have it.”

Dammit the kid as practically begging… “You don’t understand. Please. This is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.”

 _“Big man in a suit of armor, take that off and what are you?”_ Tony had a smartass answer for that before. He had a better one now. “If you’re nothing without this suit,” he told Peter sternly. “Then you _shouldn’t_ have it.” The hell of it was, he’d armed a child to protect him. Dumb mistake on his part. Wasn’t happening again. He could almost hear his own father in his voice. “Okay? God, I sound like my dad.”

Miserable, Peter hung his head. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Okay, we’ll sort that out.”

It took him almost no time to grab some clothes from a street vendor. Peter was waiting for him, still staring over the harbor at the crippled ferry offloading passengers, and the fireboats getting the last of smoldering flames out. As soon as Peter changed, Tony passed him some cash. “Take a cab. Go home.”

“Mr. Stark…” Peter said, but Tony was already rising. “Mr. Stark!”

“Take care of yourself kid. Finish school.” Then he launched away before he could change his mind. His chest hurt. It’d been almost two hours since he left Natasha. “Friday…?”

“The plane landed an hour ago. Ms. Romanoff has already departed.” Friday was almost apologetic. “I lost facial tracking a few minutes later. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have arrived at the Tower. Do you want me to let them know?”

_Dammit._

“No, I’ll tell them.”

“Ms. Romanoff left you a message Boss.”

Of course she did. “Let’s hear it.”

“Trust me.” The soft rasp of her voice tickled his ears and he sighed. The hell of it was, he did trust her. But she was out there—alone.

Again.

He shifted course for the Tower and the two super soldiers he was about to piss off when he admitted that he had no idea where Natasha was right now. “Keep scanning for her, Friday. And get me Ross’s schedule. I want to know where he is…”


	50. Love is for children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one has ever let Natasha be a child.

Chapter Fifty

_Love is for children_

Natasha

 

 

 _East and West do not mistrust each other because we are armed; we are armed because we mistrust each other._ – Ronald Reagan, June 12, 1987

 

 

Retired General and current Secretary of State Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross lived in a lovely Georgetown town house. Neighbors on either side—a corporate attorney in acquisitions and mergers, and an executive at an international engineering firm—were rarely in town. He lived alone, with his only company an offsite housekeeper who visited three times a week for general upkeep.

The only personal items in the whole house was a family photo of he and his late wife with their daughter—then a preteen Elizabeth Ross, and photos of the same daughter at her high school and subsequent college graduations. Everything else in the place could have come straight from Pottery Barn catalog.

The last time she slipped by a secret service detail, she’d been delivering a warning and hadn’t gotten the pleasure of seeing the protectee’s face when they discovered her intrusion. She’d carefully selected everything from her clothes—unrelieved black—to her hairstyle—perfectly straight and flat—to her cosmetics—barely perceptible—to set the stage for their upcoming engagement. Seated in the shadows of the two-person table occupying a forlorn corner of his tragically underused kitchen, she waited for him to arrive from his office at the State Department.

It was late, nearing eleven in the evening when his detail did the quick scan but failed to actually walk the entirety of the house—after all, they had the whole block secure.

Predictable, Ross walked into the kitchen dressed in loafers, slacks, and a button down shirt. He’d shed his jacket and tie somewhere between the front door as he dismissed his detail. Alone, he could retire the buttoned down look. His pattern was to enter his townhouse, head to the kitchen and retrieve a glass of milk and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before retiring for the night.

As for his detail—there were two on the street, one on the roof across the street, two in the back, and the guard at the gate. Two black SUVs parked at the curb kept their engines running. The low hum was likely irritating to his neighbors. Maybe that was why they stayed out of town.

The light from the refrigerator cut a diagonal across the darkened room. Nat merely watched the lanky, tall man with his steel gray hair and mustache reach inside the fridge. It took him a full ten seconds to freeze as he realized he wasn’t alone.

He could have been dead so many times. It was pathetic.

She’d staged her position perfectly. The opposite side of the table, with her back to the shuttered windows overlooking his carefully manicured but utterly ignored postage stamp of a garden. She had one hand on the table, the other in her lap. A glock 17 sat at two o’clock from her position, the grip facing the secretary. The magazine was on the table next to it. Larger than her standard weapon, she’d chosen it as carefully as the rest of her staging.

There was no round in the chamber.

She’d created an atmosphere, but unlike her mark—she wasn’t so foolish as to think her plan flawless. It had risks. Numerous risks. But the risk versus reward ratio was more than acceptable.

Straightening, Ross stared across the room at her leaving the fridge open.

“Romanoff.” The vaguest hint of a quaver in his rough voice betrayed his surprise even as he fought to get his expression under control. She didn’t react, her own expression and demeanor a blank intimately familiar. She’d slid inside the Red Room forged skin she’d worn for decades.

His eyes narrowed when she said nothing. She’d reduced her blinking significantly; the vacant stare and slow blink rate a documented side effect to interference with dopamine release in the brain created by neurochemical conditioning and prolonged exposure to the chair.

Crossing to the table, Ross left the fridge open for light and he reached for the gun. She didn’t react. Her hand remained still on the table, her breathing modulated perfectly and her heart rate steady at 40 beats per minute. Setting the bottle on the table, he retrieved the magazine, checked it before sliding the magazine home and loading the weapon.

Without a word, he pointed it at her face. At this range, he couldn’t miss. Even if she’d traded the ammunition for blanks, the weapon was well within four feet and close enough to deliver a fatal blow.

Her lack of reaction seemed to puzzle him. He tilted his head to the side, then lowered the weapon. She continued to stare at him blankly, waiting for the correct code phrase.

There was a method to these interactions and while her memory remained patchy in places, she’d had a very recent reintroduction to the loss of utter control. She wouldn’t likely forget the harrowing experience again.

A frown creased his brow and he pulled out his cell phone without looking away from her or lowering the gun. Standard flip phone. Interesting that the Secretary of State carried a burner phone. Interesting, but not surprising.

“It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Do you have eyes on Stark?” It had been over forty-eight hours since she left Tony. He could be anywhere, but she allowed herself a single blink. One every thirty seconds or so, varying by two to four seconds in either direction to avoid the appearance of a standardized pattern.

“The rest? Rhodes? Vision?” His expression grew grim. “Alert me to any changes.” He snapped the phone closed, and the suspicion weighing in his eyes deepened. “What game are you playing, Romanoff?”

A question not a command.

She stared at him.

Frustration flared in his expression. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he retreated a few steps and then pressed a button. Music began to filter through the speakers embedded in the ceiling. The tunes were dated, but loud enough to help interfere with audio monitoring.

“Are you carrying?” Another question.

So was he oblivious or just not briefed on correct procedure?

Scowl deepening, he closed the distance to put the gun right against her skin. In the unlikely event he actually pulled the trigger, Nat was glad of only one thing—she wouldn’t have to see the profound irritation and disappointment on James’ face when he was proven right.

Ross flipped off the safety.

Another slow blink, and her respiration didn’t change. She’d endured far too much torture silently to reveal anything resembling a weakness. Her role remained intact.

Finally, he took a step back and jerked out the chair on the other side of the table. “Report.”

Well, well—an order.

“Happy to comply. Mission readiness green.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Define green status.”

“Fully functional and prepared to execute orders.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes and he glanced away from her as he lowered the gun a fraction. “I’ll be damned…where is Smith?”

A question. Tsk tsk. He’d been doing so well.

“Answer the question.” Better.

“Unknown.”

“Then who directed you to report to me?” When she didn’t respond, he glared. “You will answer every single question, Romanoff. Do you understand?”

“Happy to comply,” she repeated. “Yes, I understand.”

“Then who ordered you to report to me?”

“Ivan.”

The shock rippling across his face could not be manufactured, nor could the slow, sick grin that followed. “I’ll be damned. Smith did it.”

It required no response, so she said nothing.

“You will follow any order I give you?”

“Yes.”

She’d seen less pleasure on a mark’s face after an orgasm. “Excellent. Where is Bruce Banner?”

“Unknown.”

“Bullshit, tell me where he is.”

“Unknown.”

Rising, he slapped her across the face with the butt of the gun. Fuck that hurt. But she let her head whip to the side, taking the force of the blow and ignoring the throbbing bloom. The damn cheekbone cracked—again. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Happy to comply.” Because yes, that was an order and her voice remained as dead as she was supposed to be on the inside.

“Banner’s last known whereabouts?”

“Aboard a quinjet departing Sokovia minutes before the city detonated.”

“That was more than a year ago, and you’ve had no contact with Banner since then?”

“No.”

“Do you have a way to contact him?”

“No.”

The Secretary of State paced away. “How the hell is that possible?”

“Dr. Banner does not want to be contacted.”

“I got the impression you two were close.” Not a question or an order. “So why would he want to avoid you Agent Romanoff?”

“Because I betrayed Banner to release the other guy.”

The man actually laughed. “But you can control the monster. Isn’t that right?”

“No.”

“I’ve seen reports of you doing it, I have film following a raid of the munitions warehouse in Belarus. You calmed the beast.”

 _Thank you for your confirmation._ “Yes.”

“So you can calm him but not control him?”

“Correct.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” he muttered. “But we can still work with that. Where is Thor?”

“Unknown.”

He sighed. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He wanted to lord his authority over everyone, but really didn’t have a clue. Arrogant and greedy as she’d predicted.

“Fine… last known whereabouts of Thor?”

“Departing the Avengers compound for Asgard via the bifrost shortly after Sokovia.”

“So to the best of your knowledge, he is no longer on Earth.”

“Correct.”

“Where is Stark?”

“Unknown.”

“Let’s put it this way Romanoff…do you know where any of the former Avengers are?”

“No.”

“Wilson? Lang? Not even Barton?” He peered at her. “Actually, let’s put a pin in that. Tell me about Barton.”

Someone had done their homework.

“Clint Barton, former army ranger and Agent of SHIELD, codename Hawkeye. Proficient in all ranged weapons, prefers the specialized compound bow. Currently a fugitive from the Accords following the incident at Leipzig Airport, Germany.”

“Personal ties? Friends? Family?”

Fuck you. “Unknown.”

“Dammit. I thought Barton recruited you?”

“Correct. Agent Barton offered me a place at SHIELD rather than execute the kill order.”

He settled back in his chair. “Did you seduce Agent Barton?”

“No.”

“Have you seduced any of the Avengers?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Now I know you’re lying Romanoff. You were assigned to seduce Tony Stark.”

“Incorrect. I was assigned as a SHIELD shadow to get close to Stark to provide protection detail and assessment for the Avengers Initiative following his declaration as Iron Man.”

He sighed. “And the last time you saw Stark?”

“The Avengers Compound following the incident at Leipzig Airport.”

“Did he warn you about your pending arrest?”

“No.”

“Then why did you leave the compound abruptly?”

“I wanted to.”

He was practically grinding his teeth. If it wouldn’t blow her cover to hell, she’d laugh her ass off. “Why did you want to?”

“Stark is an asshole.”

At that, Ross did laugh and he finally set the gun down. “I can’t say you’re wrong.” He tapped his fingers against the grip of the gun, and his smile made her skin crawl. “Your compliance will be rewarded.”

“Happy to comply.”

“You are, aren’t you?” But he didn’t wait for her response. “You know I always thought Pierce was a fool, but he had the Winter Soldier on a leash and kept that limited to need to know and apparently I didn’t need to know. But now I have you…can you bring me Barnes?”

“Unknown.”

“Why unknown?”

“Location of fugitive Barnes is unknown.”

“And if we located him?” He was almost salivating. “If I tasked you with bringing in the Winter Soldier, what is the likelihood you can bring him in alive?”

“Thirty-five percent chance under optimum conditions.” And that was generous even after DC.

“Not sure I want to waste you on that effort.” Pushing away from the table, he actually thought to take the gun with him before he moved to the stove and set water on to boil. “What about Rogers? Reports indicated you were training him when he was on the STRIKE teams? Can you take him down?”

“Yes.” Sorry Steve. But he had an equally good chance of taking her down, so that was a fair assessment.

“And Stark? Can you get past that suit of his?”

“Please clarify the request.”

Ross glanced at her as he set up a mug and spooned some instant coffee into it. She hadn’t shifted her posture since they’d begun.

“Can you bypass Tony Stark’s security protocols and disable his suit?”

“The Mark 45 and 46, yes.” Since both were scrap, that wouldn’t require any effort on her part to prove.

“What about his current suit? Is it one of those?”

“Unknown.”

The gun sat on the counter next to his mug and he folded his arms. “What are your requirements for maintaining your operational readiness?”

“Six hours of sleep per seventy-two hours of operation, high density protein and vitamin supplements, standard water rations, and two to four hours per day of rigorous conditioning.”

“High maintenance, aren’t you?”

“Requirements may be amended, but performance may suffer.”

The general sighed, and for a moment, he looked every year of his age as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Tell me about the Red Room protocols.”

She gave him the information available in the original SHIELD files, and not one iota more.

“Names of all Red Room graduates still alive.”

She gave him hers.

“There are no others?”

“No.”

“Now, I know you’re lying…Leonid Nobokov, Alexei Shokastov, and Yuri Stepyrev.”

“Erased.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shokastov, Alexei, erased five days ago. Nobokov, Leonid, erased five days ago. Stepyrev, Yuri, erased six days ago.”

Consternation marred his expression. “And Smith?”

“Unknown.”

“Ivan…Petrovitch. The one who sent you here.”

“He thanked me for my cooperation.” Ass. Hole.

Ross had his phone out and he dialed another number them put it to his ear. “It’s me. Do you have eyes on Fennhoff?”

The name rang a bell.

“Track him down…I don’t care how. He’s traveling under John Smith, but he might have ditched the ID—what do I pay you for?” Anger scored every word. “Try Viktor Fenhoff and look in Austria. He thinks I don’t know where he’s from.”

Viktor Fenhoff. Related to Johann?

She tucked that intel away.

Ross disconnected the call, then removed the water from the heat as it began to boil. As he poured the steaming liquid into the cup, he said, “Come here.”

She rose and walked to him obediently.

“Hold your hand over the sink.”

The level of mistrust Ross clung to was impressive, but like every other mark he had already given her a lot.

She extended her left hand. Disassociating could throw off her rhythm, so she merely waited. Pain was to be overcome. The boiling water scored against the back of her hand and fingers, scalding the flesh. She held perfectly still, only the muscles twitching in her forearm betraying a nerve reaction to the torture.

Sweat beaded along the back of her neck and a flush traveled over her chest and to her face. Autonomic responses that could not be compensated for in training. When he stopped, he studied her and seemed satisfied by what he’d seen. “How long will that burn take to heal?”

It was a gamble. The truth was always a risk. “Not long.”

“Exact time?”

“Unknown. Nature of injury versus recovery time varies.”

“More or less than a week?” His tone said he didn’t buy that she didn’t know.

“Less.”

The kettle was once again on the stove, and Ross reached over to stroke her hair. “You and I are going to do great things, Romanoff—but I think we’re going to get rid of that name. Your code name was Black Widow, yes?”

She didn’t bother to correct him, and simply said, “Yes.” In the meanwhile, she didn’t retract her hand from where she’d extended it. He hadn’t given her leave to yet.

Coffee in hand, he paced away from her and almost as an afterthought, he returned for the gun. “Go sit down,” he told her and she complied, the muscles in her hand almost weeping from the agony, but she compartmentalized as she resumed her seat. He shut the fridge abruptly, plunging them back into darkness.

Instead of rejoining her, he stared out into his darkened living room. “For more than seventy-five years we’ve been trying to replicate the work of Dr. Erskine, and we’ve been woefully inadequate to the task. Howard Stark came the closest, but your Russian counterparts snatched it out of our hands and they scratched off Stark while they were at it. Unfortunate. We only had access to some of his notes, and while they were similar to Erskine’s they varied in too many areas.”

He exhaled a long sigh. “Even more unfortunate, the one man we thought might grow up to give us some answers became a feckless, irresponsible drunk who later developed delusions of grandeur when he was marked to be scratched off. Greed, Romanoff, greed and the arrogant belief that knowing how to balance books made a man more important than the instrument who could create the most elegant weapons of death. If Stark hadn’t killed Stane, he would have been scratched off, too.”

After a sip of coffee, he turned to look at her. “Have you ever loved anything or anyone?”

“Love is for children.” She didn’t need to manufacture the mechanical response, it had been imprinted into her DNA.

He almost snorted. “That’s why they call you the Black Widow, you twist people to your whim, use them up, and then cut them down.” Or so her much discussed and ballooned reputation claimed. “The perfect weapon. You’re even better than the Winter Soldier…I saw him in action once. Not in person, of course, no one still living had seen the Soldier in action and lived…well, I suppose except for you and Rogers.”

Sam had as well, but why be accurate?

“No, I received a tape…a very gruesome recording. I was being warned off the research program. Reminded of my place. The Soldier executed Howard Stark and took it. Most men would have given up…but I won’t be intimidated. Not by Russian intelligence agencies, not by SHIELD, and not by the so-called Avengers.”

Well, he was warming up.

“Then Banner screwed up the next wave of testing. We managed to get ahold of his blood samples and that didn’t end well. Rogers’ blood didn’t work either,” he grumbled. “The serum is detectable, but it’s inextricably bound to his DNA. When they break it down, it simply collapses. What about you? Has anyone ever tested you?” They got close with Blonksy, but then had to dabble with Bruce's blood. Idiots.

“Yes.” Too many tests to count.

“Dammit, I knew SHIELD was hold out on me.” He drained his coffee. “What were the results?”

“Unknown.”

“What the hell do you mean unknown?”

“I was the test subject, not the doctor performing the test.” The conversation was getting rather tiresome at this point. But she let it go, he was giving her everything and she wanted every single piece.

A phone rang—not the flip phone he’d used twice. “Stay here.”

He moved toward the living room. The phone was inside his discarded jacket. He made an impatient noise when he looked at the screen, then answered it as he stared straight at her. “What do you want Stark?”

In the darkness of the living room, she couldn’t make out his expression. The low music he’d turned on kept even the hint of Tony’s voice from her. Whatever Tony said, however, hit a nerve. “I don’t answer to you Stark, it’s the other way around—and unfortunately for you, you still have to deal with me. Your little plan with the committee failed.”

Another beat of silence, and then he stared at the phone. The call had been disconnected. Too bad she didn’t know what Tony had said, it had probably been hilarious.

The phone buzzed again. A text message. Ross strode across the room to where she sat and slammed it down in front of her. “Did you know about this?”

She dropped her gaze to read the message. _Steve Rogers to present to the committee at 8 a.m. EST. Your presence is required._

“No,” she answered honestly.

Frowning, he retrieved the phone and typed something into it that she couldn’t see from her angle. “Can you leave the house unseen and meet my car a block down?”

In her sleep. “Yes.”

“Then treat your hand and go. Wait for me at the corner one block to the south. Engage no one.”

He had the second phone in his hand and he was walking out of the room. It took her three minutes to slather some aloe on her scalded flesh and wrap it in a cool bandage. She didn’t really need it, but it would add to the effect.

Ten minutes later, she stood in the shadow of overgrown oak. It was another ten minutes before an SUV glided to a stop and the rear window rolled down. “Get in.”

Ross. One member of his security detail.

No one else.

The Secretary of State had broken protocol.

Once she’d joined him, the vehicle rolled off easing through the darkened streets of post-midnight DC. They navigated out of central DC and onto the Beltway heading north to Maryland.

The driver said nothing and Ross’s attention focused out of the window. He once again wore his suit jacket, and tie. The bulge under his arm said he’d also armed himself. The ride took nearly ninety minutes, and they were just west of Lancaster, Pennsylvania when the driver followed an exit off the interstate.

Nothing of strategic value stood out, but Ross didn’t offer any explanation. Apparently his need to chat had ended. They pulled into a nondescript, practically defunct strip mall, the SUV gliding to a stop in front of a shuttered storefront. Then they sat there, a moment later, the cracked and dilapidated façade shimmered, and a roll up door appeared and the driver rolled forward and they slid through the opening.

Wonderful, nothing said trustworthy like a secret base.

Once inside, Ross exited the vehicle. He didn’t say anything to her so she remained where she was. Her hand throbbed, but the ravaged flesh had already begun to cool. Outside, there were a half a dozen heavily armed men—military contractors most likely. The interior of the little strip mall featured a compact situation, a single table in the center. Bunks and cots along the wall, and a few locked cabinets—most likely filled with weapons.

They were the first vehicle to arrive, but within thirty minutes, three more pulled in to park along side them each one containing a single passenger and driver. The drivers remained near their SUVs, but the passengers were definitely interesting.

Former World Security Council members Arthur Darbinyan and Donald Li. They’d served on the council during the Battle of New York. The third was Councilwoman Hawley. Like Ross, they were dressed professionally, if a little rumpled as though none of them anticipated this meeting. Once all four were gathered together, Ross spoke to them but he angled his head and prevented her from lip reading.

Hawley didn’t and since they were in her line of sight, she didn’t have to shift or otherwise betray her posture.

_What are you talking about?_

_You brought her here?_

Two sentences, but coupled with Hawley’s extremely worried look cast in her direction, Natasha had no doubt she was concerned about Natasha’s presence. She’d always thought Hawley was an extremely intelligent woman.

The argument continued for another thirty minutes, and everything about Hawley’s posture and body language suggested she wanted to be far away. Finally Ross’s driver opened Natasha’s door.

“Widow. Join us.”

A sense of savage satisfaction coursed through Natasha as she exited the vehicle to face his tense and uneasy cohort. Hawley took a step away, and she glared at Ross. Yes, Councilwoman Hawley was an intelligent woman and she thought this was a terrible idea.

Too bad she was involved in this—it was a sincere disappointment.

“What makes you think you can control… _her_?” Arthur Darbinyan eyed her with sincere distaste.

“Because the files we had on her triggers proved correct. I told you Fenhoff could do it.” Ross sounded so smug.

“Then what is she doing _here?”_ Donald Li seemed in firm agreement with Darbinyan. “You do realize how dangerous she is? Not only to us personally but to this operation? We haven’t spent all these years trying to shut down the Avengers Initiative only to have you ruin it because you fall for her femme fatale act?”

“It’s not an act,” Ross argued, as he faced her, then nodded. “Stand still. Don’t react.” The soft rush of a shoe against the concrete was her only warning before a fist slammed into her lower back, pain radiating out over her kidney and sending all the air from lungs. She staggered forward with the momentum of the blow before catching herself on the second step and then she straightened. Ignoring the fire radiating along her spine, she slowed her breathing.

Yep. Red Room for the win there. She’d definitely had worse.

The former council members stared aghast.

“Unlike the Winter Soldier,” Ross told them. “The Black Widow was raised from birth to be the perfect assassin, the ideal weapon. Her mental architecture was shaped through skilled manipulation versus the brute force technology. We only needed to reactivate her to claim the weapon—another hazard left unchecked by the fall of SHIELD.”

Hawley firmed her lips in a disgusted moue. “You’re going too far,” she argued. “We want the enhanced secured entirely. Stark is bad enough, but at least he’s human. We’re trying to reduce the number of these freaks, not co-opt them.” Aww, did she still hold a grudge?

“Then you’re tragically short-sighted. In a few hours, Steve Rogers will be addressing the U.N. Council on the Accords.”

That netted their attention and Nat’s but she didn’t move, not even to shift away from her attacker who stood close enough she could hear his breathing.

“Rogers is a fugitive,” Li snapped. “He should be arrested the moment he appears.”

“Do you have a cell that can hold him? Stark couldn’t even capture him—that was when he had an axe to grind.” Ross shook his head. “Banner and Thor remain in the wind, as does Maximoff. Rogers and Barnes are both Alpha Level Threats. If he convinces the council to work with Stark, all our progress with the Accords will be null and void.”

“You mean if he convinces them to remove you?” Darbinyan folded his arms. “You overplayed your hand, Ross and now you want us to back this move?”

The problem with greed and arrogance was they didn’t net loyalty so much as invite like to hook their train to like. They also encouraged every man—or woman—to act only in accordance to their own interests.

“Do it. Don’t do it. I don’t care,” Ross told them, and whether they were aware of it or not, the armed men on the perimeter had gradually drawn closer. In some ways, the situation reminded her of Pierce. He’d put on a similar show, weaponizing biometric pins in order to control the then WSC members—and assassinating most of them when he ignited them. Ross was prepared to scratch off his allies if they didn’t cooperate. “You came to me.”

Hawley folded her arms. “We assumed that after Blonsky you understood the threat the Avengers present.”

“I do and I’ve acted in accordance to your wishes. We have an opportunity to wipe the board.”

“How?” Li frowned, he cut a look toward her, then to Ross.

“Because now we can eliminate Steve Rogers and Tony Stark with one move.”

She didn’t react. Cataloging the information.

Ross glanced at his watch. “Stark won’t let Rogers’ present without being there. That means he’ll show up in a three piece suit wearing a smug expression—they’ll both be vulnerable. Even if they spot her, they’ve both think of her as an ally. She can get close enough to eliminate them.”

“They aren’t the only Avengers,” Hawley argued, though with considerably less heat than she had earlier.

“No, they are the leaders. Cut off the head, and the body will die. The beauty is the Widow can slip in and out…you were all so impressed by the Winter Soldier, believe me when I say her kill count is significantly higher.”

True enough.

“What then? How do we take out Maximoff? The so-called Vision, he seems indestructible. Do you plan to waste your asset on them?”

“Maximoff, yes. As for the Vision…we can use Blonsky for that.”

Was he insane?

“Are you mad?” Li sputtered. “No…I will not authorize the release of that _thing_ on the world. You wouldn’t even have been able to contain him if not for Banner, and what do you expect her to do against him?”

“She tamed the Hulk.” Ross smiled, a cruel mockery of their protests. “Her ability to seduce is as enhanced as her healing…Blonsky’s been in cryo a long time. We let her tame his savage beast, then use her as the lever to keep him in line.”

Yeah. It didn’t work like that and she ignored the tightening in her gut. She’d seen the Abomination in Harlem.

No, thank you.

“We’ll transfuse him with her blood. Banner’s blood is what made the project go wrong. We’ll use hers to correct it. Then we’ll imprint him with her—if it doesn’t work…” Ross shrugged. “Rogers and Stark are dead, and she’ll be right behind them. Not a bad result. We can leverage Colonel Rhodes’ to lean on what remains to disband the Avengers fully. That puts Stark’s technology back into our hands, along with Rhodes. What will the UN do but wring their hands?”

The sound of safeties being disengaged filled the hush and Darbinyan glanced around, as if suddenly aware of the precarious nature of his situation.

“You’re underestimating the effect Captain Rogers has on people,” Hawley argued. “Let’s say we’re successful in removing him. You don’t think the others won’t come to avenge him?”

“You’re worried about what they’ll do to her?” Ross jerked a thumb in her direction. “It took millions of dollars and thousands of man hours to bring her in—and that’s with every scrap of information available at our fingertips. Who among those remaining would have the skill or the know how to make it happen?”

“Barnes,” Hawley spit out his name. “The Winter Soldier is very much a threat.”

“He hasn’t been seen since Leipzig. He’s never reappeared on the map. Stark wouldn’t even discuss him after he supposedly encountered them in Siberia.” Tony hadn’t likely told Ross anything at all, another black mark in Ross’ book most likely. “In the unlikely event he were to show up—we let her deal with it. Ideally, we have the information on how to cultivate the resource for ourselves…”

Li cut him off with a hard gesture. “Absolutely not. The idea you want to engage in the same torture Pierce used to control his pet monster is not acceptable. We told you before, we are _not_ Hydra. We would not have gotten in bed with them, and we’re not going to condone this madness…”

“Well that’s not up to you…”

And the argument went round for round. Li ended up with a bullet in his brain. Hawley and Darbinyan became much more amenable after.

Three and a half hours later, the U.S. Secretary of State facilitated her entry beyond the UN’s secure perimeter as a fleet of SUVs followed the path into the underground parking garage. Natasha sat quietly, adrenaline from the op and endorphins dumped by the pain in her hand and back keeping her fatigue at bay.

Red Room

Department X.

Hydra.

Ten Rings.

Hammer.

AIM.

Ross’s global superiority complex.

They all wanted the exact same thing: power. Unlimited power to change the world as they saw fit, and they could frame it anyway they chose. The Accords were just another stepping stone, a tool in their arsenal, to exert their will.

No one ever thought they were the bad guy. They were the heroes of their own stories. They were the men and women with vision to see a _better_ world under the fist of their control. More, they possessed the will to step over the lines if not wipe them out entirely in justifying even the most horrific events to make their point.

Ross hadn’t spoken since they left Lancaster. It was only after they parked, and his security detail waited outside the SUV that he spoke. He eyed her. “Your compliance will be rewarded.”

“Happy to comply,” she said, the rasp in her voice a little harsher after hours without moisture.

“Wait ten minutes, then make your way up to the observation level overlooking the meeting chambers. They will not be open to the public today. You will find the components for the rifle in a case inside the south stairs. Take out Rogers the moment he steps onto that podium. I want Stark dead no less than ten seconds after. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Council members are acceptable collateral. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He tapped his fingers against his thigh, then pulled out his flip phone. From this angle she could see he had no messages.

Ross must be truly desperate to execute the whole plan without verbal confirmation from Ivanovich, Smith, or Fenhoff—whatever name truly belonged to Ivan’s mimic.

“Don’t let me down, Widow.” Then Ross slipped out of the SUV and vanished with his detail.

The seconds ticked by as the quiet corner of the garage grew more hushed. They hadn’t even left nominal security with the vehicles. Ross wanted nothing to impede her and he was too eager to get a front row seat to witness the deaths he’d just ordered.

At nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds, she let herself out of the car and slid into the shadows. The camera angles in car garages—even highly secured ones like this—were thinly placed, focusing on doors and elevators. They relied far too heavily on their access security—believing however naively that if they controlled who entered, they didn’t need to monitor their behavior beyond the barest measures.

The camera outside the nearest stairwell was pointed in the exact wrong direction. She let herself inside, and listened. Silence. If she went down, she’d only go deeper into the garage. Up, and she’d make her way into one of the most highly secured diplomatic areas in the city.

She walked down two flights, then waited. A shadow detached itself and landed on the step behind her.

“Did you get it?” She asked, before turning to face the red horned mask.

“All of it,” he told her, holding up a small device. “The question is what are you planning on doing with this Natasha?”

“Me?” She smiled. “Nothing.”

The man without fear stared at her. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Is Foggy in place?”

A single nod.

“Then send it.”

Tipping her head, she glanced up the stairs.

“We’re alone,” he assured her. “He had his own people securing this section. You could make it all the way up to the observation deck—you can see the show.”

“No,” she told him, flexing her fingers. “Let’s not give anyone the distraction. Fastest way out?”

She had her own ideas, but she knew Matt.

“Come on,” he said softly, then turned to descend and she followed him winding deeper into the bowels of the parking garage, and then out onto a barren level, crossing in the shadows Matt seemed to know were there instinctively. When he opened a metal grating, she dropped into the hole without question, Matt a half a step behind her.

They walked for the better part of an hour, finally climbing up a ladder into a closed subway station. Matt stripped off his mask, and then pulled out a bag from behind a bench before handing it to her.

“It’s all there.”

She glanced down at it. She’d left the bag with him years ago and had never gone back to get it. “Thank you.”

In the muddied light given off by the dimming bulbs still operational after all these years, she studied her former lover with a kind of sadness. They’d been close, and she’d cared about him, but—she was never not going to be who she was and Matt couldn’t be anyone other than he was. Life had chosen hard paths for both of them, and even when they intersected, they’d never really flowed together.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, still a little puzzled to why he’d agreed. The route had been difficult for him to follow. She couldn’t go in wired on the off chance Ross scanned her. It was why she’d ultimately never activated Tony’s bracelet. He could have turned it on remotely, but she’d had to hope he’d trusted her as she’d asked.

“You didn’t have to let me know Ivanovich didn’t get you, either.” Matt answered; he’d stripped out of the uniform while she stood there, tucking it away before dressing with precision into the suits he favored as Matt Murdock, attorney at law.

“Fair is fair, you got a message to Tony to let me know.”

“Didn’t seem right that anyone wanted to take you back to that life.” He turned, fixing his tie without glancing down. His spatial awareness was off the charts, and she’d only ever managed to sneak up on him a handful of times—and not once after they’d been lovers. “Karen wanted to meet you.”

Odd.

“I sincerely doubt you want me to meet Karen.” Karen Page, his secretary and current lover. Or at least she had been.

“No, not particularly,” he told her. “Foggy, by the way, says you owe him and more than just a thank you.”

“I already had the money wired,” she told him, and grinned at the look of distaste in expression.

“You didn’t have to do that…” The soft cadence of his voice lulled her. She did miss him…but more she missed the idea of him. The chance he’d represented back then, one she didn’t think she’d ever be able to allow herself.

“No, but you did give me some stellar legal advice, and you’re both getting the information into the right hands.” The recordings he’d made, in DC, Lancaster, and the parking garage would be burying Ross in a few minutes. Then Steve could talk to the council, and maybe—just maybe—the roadblock of the Accords would shift out of their path.

Ross was finished.

“Where are you going to go now?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know,” she mused aloud. “I hear Bora Bora is beautiful. Fiji, too. I could always work on my tan.” It was a flip response, and Matt shook his head.

“Karen has her copies, she’ll be getting them into the right hands. Even if the council does nothing with it—the press will have it before lunchtime.”

Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she glanced around the old subway station. The dingy walls, lost to the past and disuse, seemed a fitting metaphor.

“Natasha…”

She glanced at him as she walked away. “I’m going to be fine Matty. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Natasha.”

Stopping, she glanced back at him and waited.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he told her.

“I thought you preferred it.” It was what he’d said the last time they spoke—that it would be better if they pretended to have never met.

“Things change.”

“But not people…” Self-deprecating, maybe. But she was tired.

“You’re bleeding.” The quiet admonishment in his voice was for far more than the half-moons she’d scored into her palm from clenching her fist.

“Don’t worry Matty,” she told him as she resumed walking. “I’ll heal.” She always did.

She followed the tunnel as it wound under the streets and emerged at fifty-third and eighth via half hidden doorway tucked into an alley. Along the way, she’d slipped a baseball cap over her hair, and stripped away the black blouse for the plum colored tank top underneath. Two subtle changes, but standing in the mid-morning sunshine with Avengers Tower visible down the long canyon of streets, she felt like a caterpillar finally emerging from a cocoon.

The sounds of traffic and pedestrians filled her ears. The smell of exhaust tickled her nose. Overhead, the sun slanted its rays through the buildings. She followed her nose to a hot dog cart, already set up and paid for two of them. The vendor, an older gentleman who introduced himself as Alphonse chattered away amiably as he put her dogs together.

“Tourist?” He said as he made change for the twenty she passed him.

“What makes you ask?”

He jutted his chin to her I heart New York baseball cap. “It stands out.”

She laughed. “I don’t know…been a while since I was here. Does that make me a tourist?” The first bite of the hot dog reminded her of how hungry she was.

“Depends…what brings you back?” He counted out the change, and she tucked a five into the tip jar.

“I haven’t decided.” And it was true.

Alphonse chuckled. “Well if you’re planning to sightsee, I’d head west toward the Park. It’s a zoo down south—big to do at the UN. Iron Man’s there.” Then he dropped his voice almost confidentially. “Captain America too. Big deal.”

Pivoting, she angled west to stare down the street. “Any recommendations?”

“There’s a great place in Columbus Circle,” he told her as he wrapped her second hot dog. “I bet you’d fit right in.”

Nat eyed him, but read no deceit in his open expression. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”

“Good,” he told her and handed the dog over. “New York’s missed you. We don’t want you to be a tourist.”

The most unsettling feeling passed through her and she met his earnest gaze and found nothing but honesty. “Thanks, Alphonse.”

“No ma’am,” he assured her as he lifted his own cap. “Thank _you_.”

The reaction puzzled her, and then his smile gentled. “My grandson was on a bus with my wife the day the sky opened up.”

A chill raced up her spine.

“They came home because of you.”

For once, she actually didn’t know what to say.

“Take care, ma’am…” then he lowered his voice. “And welcome back.”

With a half-nod, she moved away and started walking. The farther west she went, the busier the streets became. It was easy to blend in. It was—strange. Aliens fell out of the sky, corrupt shadow organizations crumbled, big green monsters fought in the streets, billionaires flew, and national icons came to life—but New York? It endured.

Life went on.

A block from Columbus Circle, a dark car pulled up to the curb next to her and the window rolled down. A very familiar face sporting a pair of dark glasses looked out at her and she laughed.

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer, Romanoff.” Nick Fury chided her.

“And I’m not going to, Nick,” she told him even as she closed the distance to give them an element of privacy. “Find someone else.”

“You’re the best woman for the job.”

She tipped her head back. Once upon a time that praise would have been everything. But not today. “Sorry, Nick. I’m retired.”

He laughed, it was half a scoff of disbelief and half genuine amusement. “People like you and me, we don’t retire.”

“Then you aren’t trying hard enough,” she crumbled up the wrapper of the hot dog she’d finished and handed him the second one.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s all I have for you. Take it or leave it.” She didn’t flinch away from his stare.

Finally, he sighed. “Good work with Ross.”

“Didn’t do it for you.”

“Yeah,” he told her. “I know.” Finally, he accepted the hot dog. “You sure?”

“Yep.” She popped the ‘P’ just like Clint, and smirked. “Bye Nick.”

With a slow nod, he set the hot dog onto the seat next to him. “Bye, Natasha.”

She left him idling at the curb as she kept walking.

The sun hit the right angle as she reached the circle and it glittered off the tower. She stared up at the A on the side of the building that had once read Stark. The battle had chipped it all away, leaving the A. Tony had dressed it up and made it shine.

A beacon declaring to the whole city the Avengers were here.

She could turn down the street, walk a block and take the subway to Grand Central and board a train. She could be out of the city in no time. She could cross over to Queens and slip into the apartment she kept there. There was a photostatic veil in a locker at the bus station along with a go bag and ten thousand dollars.

Ross was ruined. No matter what he said to the council, they’d never get past the intentions he’d declared in his own voice. The threat had been neutered. Tony and Steve would get the gang back together.

They’d be safe.

It was more important they stayed together than how.

The city needed the Avengers.

The world needed them.

Natasha sucked in a deep breath; longing unfurling along with the aches and pains of her burned hand, abused cheek, and bruised back. There was no reason for her to be standing there staring at the tower. It was a fool’s errand to not already be on her way out of the city.

She was still the world’s most wanted.

She could vanish. She _should_ vanish.

They would all be better off without her.

All she’d wanted was to fix what had been broken…

If she stayed—they were targets. The government would come. More than one.

Still, she stood there mired in the worst form of indecision.

Huge gaps remained in her memory. Latent triggers stitched into the fabric of her psyche courtesy of a long dead man. Her life cobbled together from scraps of covers she invented and layered over a fractured foundation of lies.

She was a monster who’d hunted monsters, but she would always be the monster.

Taking down Ross had been her parting gift for them, not herself.

_Is this love, Agent Romanoff?_

_Love is for children…_

On leaden feet, she made herself move. Every step a grueling task as her mind and heart waged war on each other. Sentimental versus rational. Foolish versus wise. Childishness versus maturity. She paused, then pulled out a phone and sent a single message to Isaiah. His response was suitably colorful. Less than an hour remained on the deadline.

Still, she wrestled with her next step.

Until she opened the door, she hadn’t thought she would be able.

“Welcome home, Ms. Romanoff.” Friday sounded pleased. “Boss has been notified. He and Captain Rogers are on the way. Sergeant Barnes is on his way down.” The elevator flickered the descending numbers.

For once, Nat allowed herself to be a child.

No one else ever had.

And she no longer needed their permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here our tale ends...at least this one. The story opened with Natasha in the wind and committed to a mission. It ends when she's completed it. But there are still a lot of questions out there, like what happens next? 
> 
> To all those who asked, yes, there will be a sequel. The next story. Not sure exactly when, but soon. Thank you all for reading along with me as I indulged this story. I can't tell you how much exploring this idea meant to me.
> 
> Be sure to subscribe to the series, so when the next one goes live you don't miss it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that has been in my head for a while, but I am just now getting a chance to explore it. There's a lot of ground work going in, and then we'll get into the broader story beats. This is a team tale as much as it is Natasha's story. I'll be honest, I really don't think she gets near enough credit for everything she does. That said, there will be romance, humor, angst and more, so buckle up buttercups, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
> 
> This assumes the majority of the movies up through Civil War compliant. Everything after that will be up to the author's choice.


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